"I've got something to say to you," continued the speaker, rather less
harshly; "something to your advantage; so come out o' your hiding-place,
and let's have some supper, for I'm infernally hungry.--D'ye hear?"

Still the widow remained silent.

"Well, if you won't come, I shall help myself, and that's unsociable,"
pursued the speaker, evidently, from the noise he made, suiting the
action to the word. "Devilish nice ham you've got here!--capital
pie!--and, as I live, a flask of excellent canary. You're in luck
to-night, widow. Here's your health in a bumper, and wishing you a
better husband than your first. It'll be your own fault if you don't
soon get another and a proper young man into the bargain. Here's his
health likewise. What! mum still. You're the first widow I ever heard of
who could withstand that lure. 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