It saved me the bother of being studied. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. 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. As for me, I look twice at it. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them.
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