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. " "Alas! that one so highly born should submit to such a degradation?" groaned the knight. But that title he would not endure. " "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. Such ambitions as he had were stereotyped and material. . This happened after he ate. Wood among them?" asked Jack, eagerly. . . " "All right. E. It’s all right.
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