"And now, mark me. I love some one else. ‘I kissed you once, didn’t I?’ Her pulses jumped and she stared. 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. ‘What is the matter?’ ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said.
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