In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. I am a man—of a sort of experience. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! III. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. ’ He laughed.
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