Mr. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. 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 may come a little way, then?” he begged. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye.
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