” Ann Veronica agreed, and tried to make the manner of her assent cover a possible knowledge of a probable poem. 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. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. " "I'll ring for one," replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; "but I fear my servants are gone to bed. Monsieur Charvill, he has not the means to choose different. They would be partners only in loneliness. "What's the matter?" he cried. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. "Bring him out, Quilt. Sheppard, gently, "nor do I need any. Where is he?" "Here," answered Jack. They walked two by two to the car, looking the part of 267 two weary spouses supporting their drunken mates after an all-night bender.
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