E. Into one of these he waded and rolled and rolled, despite her commands. 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. White caught her eye, and smiled benignly down the table. And if I cared to have him come every day, why shouldn’t he? I find him very amusing and very useful as well. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass.
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