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. Lucy aimed the firearm at Rhea’s chest. He will wish to have his fears laid to rest. She taught him how to sail a proa, how to hack open a milk-coconut, how to relish bamboo sprouts. ‘Trespasses,’ supplied Gerald.
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