It is better that you go away now, I think. “You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. “It was inevitable,” he declared. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. Placing chairs, therefore, he invited the ladies to be seated, and, paying a similar attention to Jack, began to help to the various dishes, and otherwise fulfil the duties of a host. 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.
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