Use the gilt, man!" "There's no need of picklock or crow-bar, here, Mr. A jolly night we made of it, as you may suppose; for four such monarchs don't often come together. “The Miss Pellissier who was at White’s with us. If you can do any good with him, it's more than we can. 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. They were those of the Irish watchman.
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