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. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www. Why should she? she asked rebelliously. I'm sure she'll let me go, though. ” “It is my wish to be alone,” she said wearily. Suddenly he understood what had happened. It is no crime, none at all. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware.
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