There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. And here's the proof. “Well?” he asked her tersely. ” “Mary, please don’t cry. Or else I would have finished him. Yet she held her tongue. In vain Wood protested his innocence. “Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up. "Don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied Wood, receiving the little burthen with a laugh. Mr. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady.
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