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. Jonathan mixed with the group, and, sure of his prey, abided his time. Kneebone began to dispense the fragrant fluid; begging Mrs. “Can’t you SEE how things are?” she said. ” Michelle streamed over to them as if on cue, her eyes not meeting Mike’s. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. “Don’t fence with me,” Anna cried fiercely.
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