‘What, is Nicholas dead?’ He saw the two of them exchange glances and an instinct of danger rose up. Only an undermaid I was then. As he looked in this direction, Wild gave him a significant wink, the meaning of which he was not slow to comprehend. “Not much,” he answered, “and yet about all there is to be known, I fancy. 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.
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