draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles!


II.

By many a highwayman many a draught
Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft,
Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down,
And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown.
_Where the robber may cheer_
_His spirit with beer,_
_And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear!_
_For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles_
_So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles!_


III.

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. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse,