The carpenter threw himself flat upon the starling to avoid the fury of the wind. "The key," replied the widow. 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. “Martin, I don’t know what to say. ’ ‘For God’s sake,’ protested his junior. ” “Would not do what?” “Well, follow buses from Russell Square to Hampstead. Mr.
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