‘I thought, you see, that we might as well enter by the same way our intruder had done. The house became joyous again with the talk of babies and wedding festivities. “I don’t take any prisoners, John! You do not want this life!” “Yes I do! I am an adult. “No. 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.
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