" "Curse you!" cried Jack, furiously,—"curse you!—curse you!" "Swear away, Captain," rejoined Blueskin, coolly. 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. Wood's ornaments and wearing apparel, they prepared to depart. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate. He had made himself master of the layout of the house, that was plain. Sensitive, aren’t they?” She chuckled. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. The carte de jour was before Monsieur.
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