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. Lucy clasped her hands over her ears as it screamed. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. Sheppard, faintly. ’ ‘That’s right,’ agreed the militiaman, coming forward to stand before her. Spurlock offered his hand, which Ah Cum accepted gravely.
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