The screams of the unfortunate woman had aroused Thames from his slumbers. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. ” “Why did you keep her all of these years? What good can it do?” “She created me, Lucia. ” She had spoken rather rapidly. 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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