’ ‘That is what you thought of me. It was the only way to make the monthly bills. 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. ’ ‘And it is very stupid of you to think of such a thing, because in this case, why should I seek out my family?’ Triumph rose in Gerald’s breast, but he took care to conceal it.
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