III.

    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.”

    IV.

    When gallant TOM SHEPPARD to Tyburn was led,—­
    “Stop the cart at the Crown—­stop a moment,” he said. 
    He was offered the Bowl, but he left it and smiled,
    Crying, “Keep it till call’d for by JONATHAN WILD!
        “The rascal one day,
        “Will pass by this way,
      “And drink a full measure to moisten his clay!
      “And never will Bowl of Saint Giles have beguiled
      “Such a thorough-paced scoundrel as JONATHAN WILD!”

    V.

    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. Giles!

“Devil seize the woman!” growled the singer, as he brought his ditty to a close; “will nothing tempt her out?  Widow Sheppard, I say,” he added, rising, “don’t be afraid.  It’s only a gentleman come to offer you his hand.  ’He that woos a maid’,—­fol-de-rol—­(hiccupping).—­I’ll soon find you out.”

Mrs. Sheppard, whose distress at the consumption of the provisions had been somewhat allayed by the anticipation of the intruder’s departure after he had satisfied his appetite, was now terrified in the extreme by seeing a light approach, and hearing footsteps on the stairs.  Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without.  Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other.

“Oh, you’re here, are you?” said the ruffian, with an exulting laugh:  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Let me go,” implored Mrs. Sheppard,—­“pray let me go.  You hurt the child.  Don’t you hear how you’ve made it cry?”