“Then, Sir, I must call on you to sing it. The call is with me at our end of the booth,” said the Doctor. “And, Peter, bring me a little cold gin-and-water, and a pipe. If I must breathe smoke-poison, I may as well make it myself, at any rate.”
“Well, singing’s rather more than I bargained for. However, I suppose I mustn’t spoil sport; so here goes.”
THE DROWNED LADY.
Qy. another version of the Barkshire Tragedy?
Oh, it was not a pheasant cock,
Nor yet a pheasant hen,
But oh it was a lady fair
Came swimming down the stream.
An ancient harper passing by
Found this poor lady’s body,