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Better come another morning. ‘Hates doing the pretty. ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. My first visit will be to you. Only I am not an acquaintance at all. 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. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read.
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