Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. And then as we went down you’d try to explain. "No such thing," rejoined the jailer; "he's coming on business. "—An answer for which he was immediately reprimanded by the court. He bent to her hand, and she slipped off the ring and gave it to him to examine.
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