His fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet. I know where everything valuable is kept. ‘Hang it all, Mrs Sindlesham is right! You are two of a kind. She looked at him mournfully. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself. 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. ‘It is of no use to try to stop me.
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