‘Inside, miss!’ ‘But what is it?’ ‘Quick! We need the major. " He ignored the command. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. 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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