” “It ought to make one happy. 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. But it is not entirely without hope, for perhaps they may find some succour with Charvill. . "Was there any other woman back there in the States?" "Nary a female. "If I thought he lived——" observed Wood. " "'Zounds! Captain, I shall get my death of cold. Quite trying of him not to be there when he is wanted.
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