‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. 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. ’ He screamed at me through the rope and tape, it was no use. And when, at length, it was struck, he wanted energy to pursue his advantages.
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