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. " "My death will lie at your door," remarked Jackson to the carpenter. “She”, you say. ” “Why not?” “Free woman—and equal. But his own situation was too perilous to admit of his rendering any assistance to the ill-fated waterman. ” “To know things by name is one thing; to know them by seeing them and feeling them and being them quite another.
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