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. ’ ‘Between the devil and the deep blue sea, he were,’ agreed Pottiswick’s daughter. So completely! The oddest fitness! What is it made of? Texture of skin and texture of mind? Complexion and voice.
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