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. " "Oh Heavens!" cried Jack, driven to his wits' end. But two weeks later he returned. He waited the pleasure of Monsieur. E. Wait a moment. " "You want another drubbing, I perceive," said Thames, frowning. "Ah! who have we here?" exclaimed Griffin. Such freedoms from such people were not to be endured. “I had lunch very late to-day, and I did not get home in time for dinner.
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