"Forgive—forgive me!" "I have nothing to forgive," replied Mrs. "Fear nothing, Sir," said the man, in a voice which Thames instantly recognised as that of Blueskin. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown.
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