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. Stanley as they drew alongside, to account for his own ruffled and heated expression. We'll celebrate that check, and let the rest of the world go hang. She had not noticed such beauty in many years, and it almost caused her to weep.
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