" And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. I was ready to wager that your name would have marched with one of them. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. And, if ever I'm brought to the gallows, I shall lay my death at her door. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner.
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