But I do not need that Gérard attend. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold.
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