. 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. Places, I found, were daily given away, And yet no friendly gazette mentioned Gay. She drew her naked arms around herself. Don’t be frightened, dear. Spurlock—for that's his real name—were married at high noon. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me.
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