"Gad! it's a devilish fine face when lit up. "Pursue him," cried Thames to the attendants, "and see that he does not escape. After all a thousand pounds is a trifle to rid you of an upstart, who may chance to deprive you of tens of thousands. 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.
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