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. " "My mind's made up," rejoined Jack, coldly,—"we part to-night. The Night-Cellar XVIII. "Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. " "Awake!—to be sure I am, my flash cove," replied Sheppard; "I'm down as a hammer. "Ah! who have we here?" exclaimed Griffin. "I am no murderer," replied Sheppard.
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