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. "Blueskin," said Jonathan, as that worthy was about to follow, "I advise you to remain with me. He impetuously grasped a hold of her hand, looking for a callous. “Both. It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. "He threatens, does he?" "More than that," replied Kneebone; "I understand he drew a knife upon Jonathan, in a quarrel between them lately. Nothing is settled upon. Well, I'll take myself off. He was inclined to be a good-natured person, and he had no nervous fears of receiving a snub.
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