They were at the corner of Pall Mall now, and had come to a standstill. 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. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. But sadly, at Lullingstone we are too far off the coast to be of use.
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