III
But soon in his eye nothing green would remain,
He knows what's o'clock when he comes out again.
And the next time he's quodded so downy and snug, [10]
He may thank us for making him fly to the jug. [11]
But here comes a cuffin—who cuts short my tale,
It's agin rules is screevin' to pals out o' gaol. [12]
[The following postscript seems to have been
added when the Warder had passed.]