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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. "I had no hand in the affair," replied Jackson, bluntly; "but I know those who had; and could bring forward evidence, if you require it. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. It's all your fault, you shaking coward! and, but that I feel sure you'll swing for your carelessness, I'd throw you into the well, too. I never saw a man who wasn't.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 26-09-2024 16:24:23