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. Yet he stays. " "So she may," returned Jack, brightening up; "it's a good idea. “We’ll go together. He looked at it eagerly, but made no movement to take it. Of course I knew all about him years ago, and he is exactly like everybody’s description of him. ” Michelle continued on as if uninterrupted.
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