’ ‘I’m afraid you are right. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. In no way could he be said to contribute to the gaiety of the little party. 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. How Jack Sheppard got rid of his Irons 429 XXVI.
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