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‘I do not know him. 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. Still, they bob up occasionally. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. Good night! God bless you!" Upon this, there was a great shaking of hands, with renewed apologies and protestations of friendship on both sides; after which Mr.
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