This whole affair is truly my fault. Perhaps Gerald was not as clothheaded as he had thought. 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. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. Attempt to molest me, and I split.
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