. ” “Yes. 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. “For men have reason, women rhyme A man scores always, all the time. You’re tired, of course. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. "You shall have the sum you require, but——" "But what, Madam!" "Do not misunderstand me," she proceeded.
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