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“Mean as an old mule, too. “Those young men startled me at first, because they knew my name. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. “Mr. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread. 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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