I chose you for your strength, your cunning, your intelligence, your great beauty. Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter One In the quiet of an autumn afternoon, the deserted mansion slept. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. " Quitting the night-cellar, the trio soon arrived at the riverside. If you desire to please me, you will go. Then, naturally, I went on talking. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle.
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