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 hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. The next few hours will tell. Life is morality—life is adventure. And from then on we'll see them, port and starboard, to the end of the voyage. . "Given a chance, I can make bread and butter. She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug.
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