mm. 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. You yourself, I am sure, recognize how impossible you have made it for me now to do anything of the sort. Do you remember what I said when you took me at the Mint four days ago? I told you my turn would come. It is not at all what I expected either. ‘It did not seem to me that it was so. Our land brings us in nothing. Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap.
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