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“Believe me, I know. "But trifle with mo no longer. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. From suburbs, from country towns—everywhere. 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.
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This video was uploaded to danilocalvaresi.com on 01-07-2024 13:48:11
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