He just walked in a few minutes ago. 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. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. ” “We should go back. ‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly. I’ve to collect my sword and hat, and then we must get back to London.
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