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. ‘It needs not that you tell me. Have you ever voted, Mr. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. ‘I have the means to compel you. “He’s got good taste, you know. But if that can possibly be done I want it to be done. But don't let my name frighten you.
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This video was uploaded to probiv.club on 10-05-2024 07:48:48
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