I am going to take you entirely at your word. I’ll announce myself. 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. " "Lord, that's just the lesson I've been expounding! It isn't a question of fear; it's one of propriety. And so is your companion,—the convict Sheppard. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come. “There are policemen—and buses. "He is all alone. “Hey, John.
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