” “But I love you. "He comes!" cried a thousand voices, and the shout ascended to Smithfield, descended to Snow Hill, and told those who were assembled on Holborn Hill that Sheppard had left the prison. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. "Leave him to me," he said. " With your foodle doo! "Thames Darrell has my heart alone, A noble youth, e'en you must own; And, if from him my love could stir, Jack Sheppard I should much prefer!" With his foodle doo! "Do you refuse my toast?" cried Jack, impatiently.
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