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. "Rowland," she rejoined, "you strive in vain to terrify me into compliance with your wishes. They will say that it was murder. “Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. ’ ‘Then what?’ demanded Lucilla in a hushed tone. Over here men drink because they are lonely; and when they drink too hard and too long, they wind up on the beach.
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