I am not afraid that you may try to make love to me. 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. It worked. Are you sure you're not misinformed, Sir?" "I was in the Lodge at the time," replied the jailer. That is easy. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1. " "That is a far more agreeable one, I must confess," returned Kneebone, with a self-sufficient smirk. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper.
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