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. “Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. Sheila was a stout woman, her bosoms huge, her face 110 wide and square. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. Those who act wickedly bring misery on all connected with them. C.
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This video was uploaded to theblogfullofgames.com on 19-09-2024 13:23:52
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