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. She could have dined alone in her room; but courage had demanded that she face the ordeal and have done with it. She sighed with relief. Tell me all that happened, one sister-woman to another. And I need not tell you that her hotel bill is running on the same as yours. ” “How?” “It prevents our marrying. "Do not—do not!" "He must!" thundered Jonathan, "or he goes to jail.
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