Sheppard. You are going to accept a post as chorus girl, or super, or something of that sort. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. I believe I am getting impudent. 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. " "Come along!" cried Jack, darting through the door.
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