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. The man’s statement was explicit, and spoken with confidence. Oh, Jack! repent, while it is yet time, of your evil conduct. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain.
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