Keep your eye upon the lad. ” He digested her statement as part threat and part promise. ‘He is not in England, you understand. He is steeped in the conventions. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. 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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