But I dare not accept it. 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—you shall," answered Jack. " "I wonder where the deuce I'll be able to get some writing paper? I'm crazy to get to work again. ” “Girls!” cried Ann Veronica. ” “That’s why, in a way, I’m prudish.
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