. 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. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. His condition is not unfavourable, but there may be a relapse at any moment. ‘Looks like it. I give myself to you. ‘I must, for that the pig has already gone to monsieur le baron. If I’d known, there would have been a different story.
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