’ Mrs Chalkney lifted her brows. ‘Oh, peste. “What the devil do you mean by coming for me like that?” Ennison exclaimed, glowering down upon him. ‘You see, Melusine, that none of our visitors were as informed as they would wish to be. 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. More importantly, she had her wits.
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