White,” the lady in black satin remarked. We are off for a second honeymoon. 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. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble.
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