“Mr. I really must leave you now. ’ ‘All the way to England?’ She opened wide eyes. “Sure, are you sure you’re okay?” He exited off the highway onto a quiet road and pulled over. 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. He obeyed, letting the garment fall to the floor. To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject.
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