“You needn’t say a word more,” Mr. 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. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. “He tried it. "Ah! I see. ’ Then she came closer and put her hand on his chest so that it rested on the braid that decorated his scarlet coat. Quite right. Water I need. “Now,” he said, quietly, “it’s time we stopped this nonsense.
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