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 begin to have doubts, eh? A handful of money between you, and nothing
else. Ireton," cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take
me hence, I implore you—if you would further the ends of justice—search this
house. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. "
"Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. She is in Wild's power. It is not
possible for us to be on friendly terms with a young man who has been seen in a
public place, having supper alone with your sister after midnight. He might have been a
complete innocent, she did not know and did not bother
to find out. Now, more than ever, it was time to start
running. Arrived at the extremity of the building,
he found that it overlooked the flat-roof of a house which, as far as he could
judge in the darkness, lay at a depth of about twenty feet below. Now he
lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain
dripping slowly on to the carpet. "
"Never," replied Winifred.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 03-07-2024 15:44:36