She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. “Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. I’ll try to stay as long as I can. 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. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs.
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