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. Her desires were not for riches. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth. " "You shall take my life first," rejoined Sheppard.
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