” Capes watched the limpid water dripping from his oar. 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. " "At Tyburn, eh, Mr. Manning,” she said, “I warned you not to idealize me. She did not answer him, as she did not know what to say. " There was another pause. But she felt his lax figure become rigid.
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