“Here is my card. She did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head. 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. Suddenly she became aware of the fact that he had brought no lunch. Give him this letter, child, and bid him take it to the Lodge at Newgate without loss of time. ” “You’ll make me look a fool before all my friends.
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