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. \" Lucy fought to resist the compulsion to 45 fold her arms over her chest. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. "Here I am, Captain," cried a voice from without. ’ ‘True enough,’ nodded Martha sadly.
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