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. " "Then I wish you good night. " "We shall have a durty night on it, to a sartinty, landlord," observed an old oneeyed sailor, who sat smoking his pipe by the fire-side. “It’s THE Society!” said Miss Miniver. ’ ‘You saw? Where were you? How did you see?’ ‘Your heroic milice are not as clever as they thought. Wood, in a taunting tone. Give me the books. "I'll place it to your account, Sir Rowland," answered the thief-taker, smiling significantly. “Mary Lucia.
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