I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable. " Spurlock, who was absorbing this talk thirstily, laughed. The danger or difficulty of an exploit never appalled him. 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. A lovely, fetching girl. The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree.
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