207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. Gerald instantly took her arm and guided her back to her chair. 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. That is an evil place!” She cried. "I never went to school. “Prom committee does this, silly.
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