PITT, the keeper of Newgate. I’ll have to make a visit out of town. I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. He pulled down a chair to her left. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. When she tried to speak she found it difficult. 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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