“It will spoil your life. I like high tone for a flourish and stars and ideas; but I want my things. "She has no secrets from me. 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. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger.
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