Into this hole in the wall and out of it the native stream flowed from sunrise to sunset, when the stream mysteriously ceased. 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 had been quite right to sit down. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine.
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