A good woman’s mind has angels with flaming swords at the portals to keep out fallen thoughts. 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. Ruth's arm trembled and her step faltered, but he was too far away in thought to be observant. It’s—it’s a serious prohibition. A creature of convenience, she could have cared less if her children were carried away by drunkards on the street. net/license). ToC Monday, the 31st of August 1724,—a day long afterwards remembered by the officers of Newgate,—was distinguished by an unusual influx of visitors to the Lodge. The inn was a military haunt.
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