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. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. ‘Let’s see now. ’ He bowed slightly, and indicated the house behind them with a wave of his hand. “I’m going to kill your weakness for you. " "Are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration.
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