" "Won't you take me?" "No; you must await my return here. 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 stopped. “Perhaps for myself I do not mind, but this man is sure to find out some day, and he will not like having been deceived. No doubt he has been drinking for days without eating substantially, and his heart gave out.
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