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 bit her lip, but her eyes betrayed her. I'd have got something nice. She did her best to do this. . Wild of the circumstance. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. Sheppard wildly. Wood. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield.
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This video was uploaded to msleyda.com on 07-05-2024 18:03:05
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