“We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. ” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. 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. ’ ‘Of Leonardo? Yes, I will tell you.
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