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. . Later. She wondered if the second part would overcome his objections? Several times the words had rushed to her tongue, to find her tongue paralysed. More,’ he said, ‘but I’m told it’s the most amusing thing in London at the present time.
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