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. On her lapel was an ivory button, bearing the words “Votes for Women. Yet even now there were so many things untouched, so much to be learned. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. “Splendid it must be to be a composer.
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