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, indeed, he’s very human. ” “You are a marvellous courier,” she declared, as they passed into the street. Hobson was not 147 amused by the situation, which handled wrongly, could lose him his job. Recollect, he's chained to the ground by a great horse-padlock, and is never unloosed except when he comes to that hatch.
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