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. " Ah Cum lent an ear covertly. " "Oh, God!" cried Jack, "she does not know me. my first symphony!” Brown’s eyebrows rose skeptically. " "It's all up," muttered Thames. She never forced the issue, it was their father’s job.
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