I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. 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. He reached for her chin and lifted it up. " "I am one-and-twenty," observed Jack. Wells This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever.
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