For a while he threatened her. 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. But to draw the attention of the milice, no, that is not at all desirable. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me.
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