“Ciao, Fragolina. The turning of the key startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection. 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. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that I shall do best to throw myself upon your consideration and tell you the truth.
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