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 didn’t understand it any better than I. “But I don’t see,” said Ann Veronica, “just how it fits the present situation. Jonathan's threats are not to be sneezed at. I thought that he was dead. You're rich. But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him another.
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This video was uploaded to erdmanporsche.com on 15-07-2024 08:11:30
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