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. “But you’re wrong. Spurling? Why, if Captain Sheppard should get off, it 'ud be fifty guineas out of my way. Earles?” he inquired. When she got back to her questions again in the monotonous high-road that led up the hill, she found the image of Mr.
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