"Troth, and so did you," returned the watchman; "but I couldn't belave it. He was disquieted. He was caked with dried muck. ‘You make me talk, you make me talk. "Was I out of my head?" "Yes. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. "And, now,—to Newgate. "No, I shan't," replied Rachel, saucily.
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