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. " "You would, if you had seen what I have. She had not even endorsed it. “I can’t! He appears to be a most immovable person. Heigho!" "Now for it!" cried Jack, as the couple entered the room: "the coast's clear. You may fall into the hands of your enemy. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away.
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