“Lucy! You found me! I was just about to sleep some of those rum and Cokes off like the pig I am. 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. ’ ‘So Charvill did tell him,’ Gerald said, once more staring into the hole in the wall. ” Ennison turned round sharply. "Hold!" interposed Thames, "he can do no more mischief.
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