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. " "Proceed, Sir," said Trenchard, breathing hard. " "Sir Rowland is dead," replied Jonathan, gloomily. “Mr. Having drunk as much as he thought prudent, and thanked his unknown friend for his attention, Jack again lay down on the straw, and indulged himself with another nap, intending to get up as soon as it was perfectly dark. She drew it out with shaking fingers. Then her fingers moved. ” “But it’s about other things. I made Hainault’s acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. “I don’t know. “I believe that you are quite safe.
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