The doctor said you wrote. Then, there shall be laid upon your body as much iron, or stone as you can bear, and more. Perhaps in two or three weeks. “That,” she answered, “is far easier to believe. But one must disguise oneself. 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.
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