” Shari brushed by her mother in the hallway, who grunted. 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. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. There was no one stirring in the flats.
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