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. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. Nothing material occurred to Newgate, until the memorable year 1666, when it was utterly destroyed by the Great Fire. ” She commanded. . "'It was all perfectly legal? "My word for it.
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