\"Shhh! He rolled onto his back again, raising himself in alarm. It depresses one, you know. It must be somewhere hereabouts. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. You’re of age— you’re of age. 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. On gaining a stack of chimneys at the back of the house, he came to a pause, and again unmasked his lantern.
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