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. And I've made up my mind that a husband ought to believe only half that he hears, and nothing that he sees. He's a model of conjugal attachment and fidelity, a pattern to his family, and an example to his neighbours. “You’re wanted for questioning, miss.
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