Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far. 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. You've got me interested and curious. Her hair was washed for her also. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy. She could manage the major. I want to put myself into your hands.
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