Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. Earles declared good-humouredly, “but I shall not let you go without drinking a glass of wine to our success. ” Miss Miniver followed with an expression of perplexity, her mouth shaped to futile expositions. I was visiting the royal family, as they sought me for a tutor for their sons over the summer.
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