‘Gérard, you are a great fool. “When you married me——” Her little hand flashed out across the table. 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. Now, he had achieved them, and felt assured of success. Arrived in the Hall, the prisoner's handcuffs were removed, and he was taken before the Court of King's Bench.
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