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. Earles drew out his cheque book. “Hand me the Jergens lotion, will you? How’d it go with John?” She asked. And here against a wall were the plumtrees. Sheppard,—"pray let me go. ’ ‘On the contrary. “Just come to that seat now you are here, Miss Stanley, and look down the other path; there’s a vista of just the common sort.
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