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. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept. "You may die afterwards as soon as you please," retorted Jonathan; "but live till then you shall. " "Your prisoner!" echoed Jonathan, derisively. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. “In fact, yes, I do.
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