. “Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. 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 took some Oreos from the bottomless supply that stocked the cookie jar. Suddenly she understood. ” He recognized the force, almost the passion, which trembled in her tone, and he at once abandoned the subject.
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