“I think I ought to have one. But, say we're friends. I am sorry to seem to disobey you, but I am. Gerald stayed him. I’ve bored you or something. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. Wild had a narrow escape lately, in that affair of Captain Darrell," observed Shotbolt.
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