White said. “It rained the whole of the time, but we saw all the sights, and the place never seemed dull. ” They remained looking at each other for three or four seconds. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. 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. “I’ve got bad faults.
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