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. They were very nice about it, in memory of your father. "Take courage, man; it is only Quilt Arnold. "It's very well you haven't crushed the poor little thing to death with this confounded clothes'-bag. " "We shall see," replied Jack. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything.
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