After Capes had finished the Scotchman’s troubles he went back into the preparation-room. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. She delighted in frustrating him. 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. "I leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted.
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