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. Guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy light across the road, Jack soon found the place of which he was in search. "You open it, Ruth. " Ruth walked to the companion. With the usual precautions, Austin then departed. "And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly. But nothing followed to indicate that the liquid had stimulated the heart.
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