"I'll be back in a minute. My people don’t know what to do. “Tell me,” she insisted, “why you look like that. 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. "Thames, I entreat—" "Your wishes are my laws, beloved, girl," replied Kneebone, bowing profoundly. You need only answer me truthfully and you have nothing to fear.
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