“His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. "By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. Do sit down, dear boy. "Hear me!" cried Thames, bursting into tears. And how comes his cloak on this knave's shoulders?" "It is his cloak, of a surety," returned Rowland "Harkye, sirrah," continued he, haughtily interrogating Wood; "where is the person from whom you received this mantle?" "Throttling a man isn't the way to make him answer questions," replied the carpenter, doggedly.
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