"I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. ‘Sapristi. ” Michelle looked puzzled. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. Did you see Lord Delafield and Miss Anderson? They packed me in with Colonel Anson and Mrs. 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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