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. It is useless to trace out her miserable career; though I can easily do so if you require it. Ben watched these manoeuvres with great interest, and strained every sinew in his frame to keep ahead of the other boats.
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This video was uploaded to newyorkairportlimo.mobi on 04-06-2024 02:22:21
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