Against the walls hung an assortment of staves, brown-bills, (weapons then borne by the watch,) muskets, handcuffs, great-coats, and lanterns. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived.
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