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 knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. I'm sure he'll do his best to content you. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. ‘I’ve had enough of this. \" She said, looking beside him at a taller boy who appeared to be bored. " While Mr.
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