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Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away. "Because I knew what you wanted me for!" answered Thames firmly. "You are giving that chap the boot rather suddenly?" "Had to. .
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