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. ’ ‘Addlepated imbecile, Hilary,’ corrected Gerald calmly. " "Here is the sum you bargained for," rejoined Trenchard, flinging a pocket-book on the table; "count it. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. “Of course!” he said. "I will bear the body. We struggle against it at first, but in the end we have to submit.
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