It was Annabel who caught at the paper. Someday I'll take you down there and have them rig up the coconut dance for you. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. 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. "He does," replied Kneebone, "and, what is more surprising, it seems to increase. " "He is alive," replied Jack, "I have seen him, and might have conversed with him if I had chosen.
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