Where Saint Giles' church stands, once a lazar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a vessel 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 liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! II. He took her fingers and lifted his eyes to hers. Wood. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. 175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. She was wholly unable to conceal her knowledge of his presence. ” He reeled out of the room. Mr.
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