He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. . What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. Kicked out of there for something shady. She interrupted. They were hailed as celebrities, the three of them. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. 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. And I want you for myself—for my wife.
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