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. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. ” He paused, with his eyes studying her gravely. I'm no great judge of these articles, Ma'am; but I trust to your honour not to palm off paste upon me. " The woollen-draper made no answer, but hastily starting up, bolted the door. “I was really interested in his stuff.
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