“My dear, you have learned the hard way what happens when you do not eat. You are different from all the world for me. 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. Teddy went round by the garden backs and dropped the bag over the fence. Some of them are now buried at the bottom of the Thames.
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