’ It was thus in stony silence that the pair traversed the short distance to Stratton Street, where Roding knocked on the major’s door and entered a pleasant woodpanelled hall, with his prisoner firmly in tow. But I'd a mind to try whether you really loved him as much as you pretended. 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. ‘Alors, pig!’ she cried and lunged in quarte.
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