” “No,” she moaned, “not that. “The man alone could supply any, and if he recovers sufficiently to say anything, what he would say would exonerate you. 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 man lingered. He said nothing, even though it was not raining.
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