“Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. 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. "That's for myself," rejoined Mrs. She was tempted to touch him in the car as they drove to the empty house, but she refrained for fear of causing a car accident. She must get to the vestry.
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