You know not in what dark places my life has been cast; with what crimes it has been stained. Mr. 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. Meanwhile, Mr. I have tried taking a little blood from various donors. In some cases they were ground almost to powder; in others, driven deeply into the earth, as if discharged from a piece of ordnance. Manning.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 29-09-2024 01:05:07