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. ’ ‘What?’ Appalled, Gerald could only gaze at her. For freedom at least. I should require you to accept no employment whatever upon the stage, and to remain out of England. ’ ‘But he’s a major of militia, miss. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. I have never wept since that day.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 16-09-2024 18:30:28
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