"Hold hard," cried he, addressing the waterman; "I'll give the gentleman a lift. "It would be a thousand pities, wouldn't it, to put so promising a lad out of the way?" "Devil!" exclaimed the knight fiercely, "Give me the paper. 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.
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