“I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. ” “A—what?” Anna asked. For all that, it is folly. "I love you like a son, and will follow you like a dog. Capes, do you think. Luckily I’m not. 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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