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On the Day he had trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation. Never sent for the shirt. His commissions this day would not fill his metal pipe with one wad of tobacco. After all—’ ‘Yes, but I do not wish to see him,’ Melusine protested. Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. On Thursday we embark for South America. 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.
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