Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. Perhaps I may borrow yours one day?’ ‘Lucilla, you wretch,’ burst from the captain. 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. " The lad made no answer, but left the room. Wood, in equal trepidation. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent.
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