Читать книгу The Collected Novels - William Harrison Ainsworth - Страница 105

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. “And now, widow,” he continued, “attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o’ yours.”