"I hardly know," returned Jack; "but it's not safe for me to remain much longer here. ‘And you, my girl, if you’d been born at all, would have been just what you think you are. 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. All the turnkeys were assembled.
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