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—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. Close upon this came another thought. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. ’ ‘Sir!’ came from Trodger, and the booted feet clattered off and out of the front door. And look, again, at the women one finds letting lodgings.
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This video was uploaded to erdmanporsche.com on 30-06-2024 23:26:09
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