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. "You shall not go, adorable girl," cried Kneebone, catching her in his arms, "till you have answered me. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. But I want to know whether in such an event you would stand by me?” She held out her hand. “I’d give anything,” he remarked, “to see our little Vee happily and comfortably married.
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