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. "See how glad he is!" His irony and displeasure subsided. Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. Now, I know you can restore him to his rights, if you choose. Nothing at all. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. Try and let him never regret it.
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