. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. You are greatly altered. 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. He gurgled as if trying to communicate. "I'll cut down him who opposes me.
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