I want to give you time to think. 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. 1. "'Odd's! bodikins!" cried Jack, rubbing his cheek, "I'm in luck to-day. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink.
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