I'll try the effect of a jolly stave." And he struck up the following ballad:-- SAINT GILES'S BOWL.[A] [Music: Transcribers note See HTML version for music] I.
Where Saint-Giles' church stands, once a la-zar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a ves-sel 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 li-quor, all fear! For nothing the tran-sit to Ty-burn beguiles, So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! II.
By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown.
_Where the robber may cheer_ _His spirit with beer,_ _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!_ III.
There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! _For a can of ale calms,_ _A highwayman's qualms,_ _And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms_ _And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles_ _So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles!_ "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle.

"And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours." IV.
When gallant TOM SHEPPARD to Tyburn was led,-- "Stop the cart at the Crown--stop a moment," he said.
He was offered the Bowl, but he left it and smiled, Crying, "Keep it till call'd for by JONATHAN WILD! "_The rascal one day,_ "_Will pass by this way,_ "_And drink a full measure to moisten his clay!_ "_And never will Bowl of Saint Giles have beguiled_ "_Such a thorough-paced scoundrel as_ JONATHAN WILD!" V.
Should it e'er be _my_ lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord--I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! _Whatever may hap,_ _I'll taste of the tap,_ _To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap!_ _For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles_ _So well as a draught from the Bowl of St.Giles!_ "Devil seize the woman!" growled the singer, as he brought his ditty to a close; "will nothing tempt her out?
Widow Sheppard, I say," he added, rising, "don't be afraid.

It's only a gentleman come to offer you his hand.

'He that woos a maid',--fol-de-rol--( hiccupping) .-- I'll soon find you out." Mrs.Sheppard, whose distress at the consumption of the provisions had been somewhat allayed by the anticipation of the intruder's departure after he had satisfied his appetite, was now terrified in the extreme by seeing a light approach, and hearing footsteps on the stairs.

Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without.
Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other.
"Oh, you're here, are you ?" said the ruffian, with an exulting laugh: "I've been looking for you everywhere." "Let me go," implored Mrs.Sheppard,--"pray let me go.