" "Jack, my love," cried Mrs. ” She barked. ‘Well, if that’s what the good Lord wants, then you’ll just have to accept it. 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. And she seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress.
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