. 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. "Thames, I entreat—" "Your wishes are my laws, beloved, girl," replied Kneebone, bowing profoundly. “Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier,” he said. A lesson learned. Just then, a carriage drawn by four horses, drove furiously up to the Six Bells; but Jack was too much absorbed to take any notice of it. .
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