ToC About an hour after this, Jack ventured to emerge from his place of concealment. . "How have you managed to communicate with him?" Abraham, who had listened attentively to the foregoing conversation,—not a word of which escaped him,—now drew in his breath, and brought his ear closer to the boards. 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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