He seemed like a very intelligent doctor and not at all like a snooty archbishop. 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. "Well, that beats all I ever heard of!" roared Blueskin. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. “How gratified she must have been! If only I had known I would have made an effort to get home in time for dinner.
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