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. The lady murmured briefly to her husband, and then tucked her hand into Alderley’s arm. Don’t try to shield anybody or hide anything. Rhea laughed and lunged for the broadsword that Sebastian had carelessly left lying on the ground.
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