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. Holcroft, we may have been mistaken. His assistance came too late. These particulars are familiar to all, who have any title to the knowledge. At the sound of the door Ann Veronica uncovered a tearless face, and with one swift movement assumed a conversational attitude. Sir John felt and looked several years younger.
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