She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. 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. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. "I'm surprised Mr. I'm always agreeable to the women, bless their kind hearts! Now! slip the purse into my hand.
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