They even threatened to cut the traces and take off the wheels from the carriage. Lucy howled as tooth met bone, her arm clamped in the trap of Rhea’s huge canines. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. Mere formality. 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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