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. ” Ann Veronica said nothing, and Miss Klegg went on: “He very often IS— most unfair. " The prison bars of circumstance, they no longer encompassed her. . "When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him.
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