FOOTNOTES: [A] At the hospital of Saint Giles for Lazars, the prisoners conveyed from the City of London towards Tyburn, there to be executed for treasons, felonies, or other trespasses, were presented with a Bowl of Ale, thereof to drink, as their last refreshing in this life. Stimulated by the promise of something handsome to drink, the man acquitted himself to admiration in the management of his lazy cattle. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. So far as I am concerned, I am just now a hopeless nonentity. You cannot do a murder and expect that you will not be punished.
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