" So she told him the adventure of the two beachcombers in the typhoon, and how they became regenerated by their magnificent courage. ‘I’ll take wine,’ the lady said briefly, turning back instantly to Hilary. 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.
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