“There ought to be a Censorship of Books. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. 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. "How very fortunate it is," he observed, "that I happened to call upon Mr. I wouldn't keep an apprentice to set my authority at defiance. "What! refuse to see a person who desires to speak with me. " "I feel it," replied Jack, in a tone of agony, "and I feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own. But, though the latter was somewhat embarrassed by his burthen, he peremptorily declined Jonathan's offer of assistance.
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