"Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. “I got your note just in time,” he remarked. 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. Ann Veronica stared for a moment in amazement at this dark-green object that clashed as it was put down.
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