In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. ’ ‘Of what use to be ladylike when I cannot be a lady?’ ‘None of that. 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. Then he looked across at Mrs Sindlesham. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued.
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