"Thus, with beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, song-roaring, and infinite caricaturing of woe, the disorderly procession went its way, recruiting at every step, and all the shops shutting before it. Its destination was the old church of St Pancras, far off in the fields."
(Charles Dickens. A tale of two Cities)
At last-it maybe, Death took spite
Or jesting only meant to fright
He sought for Jack night after night
The churchyards round;
And soon they met. The man and spate
In Pancras ground.
(Thomas Hood. Jack Hall)