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. ‘What Gerald wants with you has me beat. ” Lucy’s eyebrows knitted, trying to remember an unfortunate chinless girl running around the school. " "Perhaps not," replied Jack, carelessly. ’ ‘No, but you’ve made up for it since. “Let us put the lamp out,” she said; “the flames are ever so much better for talking,” and Ann Veronica agreed.
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