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. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. Do you know anything of his friends? Is there any one for whom we ought to send?” “I know very little of him beyond his name,” Anna answered.
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This video was uploaded to needcom.in on 18-04-2024 13:48:17
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