Anna had told me that he carried always with him this bogus marriage certificate. 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. The next moment, a struggle was heard, and Blueskin appeared at the door, followed by Mrs. “Here goes,” he said. “I must take them,” she said, to help herself over her own incredulity.
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