’ ‘Why should Gérard care?’ sneered Gosse. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. She tested the limits to see how far 79 she could go, often running away for the day, causing him to fret and pace.
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