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120 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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KNIFE-GRINDER
Story ? God bless you ! I have none to tell, sir : Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers, This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were Torn in a scuffle.
Constables came up for to take me into Custody ; they took me before the justice; Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish Stocks for a vagrant.
I should be glad to drink your honour's health in A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence; But for my part, I never love to meddle With politics, sir.
FRIEND OF HUMANITY
I give thee sixpence ! I will see thee damned first — Wretch ! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to
vengeance! Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, Spiritless outcast!
[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.'] |
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