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. ’ ‘Oh, that tragic pair,’ uttered her ladyship in saddened tones. . I shall barely be in time for the theatre. He had hurt her. You must not, however, accompany me, Jack. Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the further door.
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