Where Saint Giles' church stands, once a lazar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a vessel of wood; A broad-bottom'd bowl, from which all the fine fellows, Who pass'd by that spot, on their way to the gallows, Might tipple strong beer, Their spirits to cheer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! II. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. " "Ah, I see. ” “But that is ridiculous!” he exclaimed. And, by way of checking his housekeeper's familiarity, he pointed significantly to the table. "I cannot part with him," replied the widow, bursting into tears; "indeed, indeed, I cannot.
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