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‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. All this while he was arranging the medicines on the stand and jotting down his instructions on a chart sheet. And then, there would be the question of money. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle.
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