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. \"Hardwood floors. " And then he added, in an under tone, "Conceal yourself outside, and be within call. The gallows has groaned for him for years. I knew it. Anna lied to you, I lied to you. I would sooner see you in a ’bus again.
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