But her temper almost flared again when the sergeant spoke. He was by no means certain that she would not in fact attempt to blow off his head as she had threatened. ’ At that, a flush drenched her cheeks and she snatched her hand away. 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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