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. Mrs. ” Anna showed him the way. The faithful fellow will never leave me. She's fine. ‘One thing at a time, missie. The less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away.
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