"Help! help!" "You call in vain," returned Kneebone. 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. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. When she tried to speak she found it difficult. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one.
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