Sir Rowland waved his hand, and the attendant withdrew. 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. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. "We'll see that, you yelping hounds!" rejoined Jonathan, glaring fiercely at them. The marriage cannot—shall not be delayed. .
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