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 be alarmed of how sulphurous it is, how sickeningly sweet. The pearls were really yours?" "They were left to me by my mother. And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid. . ” He snarled. You are much more like what I was then.
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