You have all the instinctive dexterity of parasites. "You are complimentary, Sir Rowland," returned the other, with a grim smile. 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. I trust that no unpleasant rumours will be circulated before the election, at any rate. "Do you think I'd part with the sweetest morsel of revenge on those terms? No! But I'll have the secret out of you by other means.
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