"Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. Be on your guard. " "Wood's daughter, I suppose?" observed the other. 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 can come round there. Into this hole in the wall and out of it the native stream flowed from sunrise to sunset, when the stream mysteriously ceased.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjE4OS4xNzEuMTI1IC0gMzAtMDktMjAyNCAwOTozNToxNSAtIDI1NDk5MjAw
This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 25-09-2024 18:32:46