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. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed. Here he obtained some breakfast, and mounting the hill turned off into the fields on the right.
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