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. "You can shave him, you know. ’ ‘I do not think so,’ Melusine agreed, still puzzled. ‘Just what I was going to tell you, miss. So your name must be Americanized? What country? It sounds Spanish. Consider you’ve got resources deposited with me. ’ Melusine bit her lip on a sharp retort.
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