"A fall against Newgate is accounted a sign of death by the halter," replied Wild, with ill-disguised malignity. Lead the lad to suppose that he'll be introduced to Lady Trafford. 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. “Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres. It was decrepit and too large. Words of encouragement and sympathy were addressed to Jack, who, as he looked around, beheld many a friendly glance fixed upon him. Yet here you are, and at precisely the right moment, too.
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