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. God must love me, for he has guided me here. If Thames Darrell escapes, you will lose both life and property. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. “And let’s have a look at you, Vee!” said Mr. ” “I am staying,” she answered coolly, “at a small boarding-house near Russell Square.
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