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. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his
shoulder. He did not know—and probably never would unless
she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into
slatternly ways in this latitude. He deserves none. As for me, if they
don’t at least help a little with college I’m leaving and I’m
never coming back. These particulars are familiar to all, who have any title
to the knowledge. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed.
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This video was uploaded to flood-rescue.com on 30-06-2024 17:05:56