. 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. ” Anna’s eyes were a little dim as she poured out her coffee, and the laugh she attempted was not altogether a success. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer.
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