. ” “God send you may never repent it!” cried Capes. " "Pray do so, Madam," retorted Mrs. Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat. 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. Lucy sighed. The tired woman looked quietly at her. A lovely, fetching girl. And because he knew it was a burden, there was no gaiety upon the doctor's face; neither was there speech on his tongue.
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