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. I’ll walk over there once I change clothes. This was just what he needed. Perhaps the boys had already faced off and he had missed it, he thought sourly. ‘Cajolery? This is not your style.
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