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. ’ Gerald noted the mixture of respect and apprehension in the glance he received from the boy. I went off to round up his wife. Too close, he reasoned, for safety. But God will punish you for what you have done this day. She dismissed the whole subject with a little shrug of the shoulders. The woman shrugged her shoulders.
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