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. Listen to your mother's prayers, and do not let her die brokenhearted. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. After listening attentively for a short time without drawing breath, he became convinced that his apprehensions were groundless, and, greatly relieved, sat down upon the chair to rest himself and prepare for further efforts. "He called me a wanton, Hoddy. My lads," he continued, addressing the partners; "when you've finished this job give that fellow a fresh set of darbies. For heaven’s sake, give him some Madeira or something, Gerald! Anything to calm him down. He gave Valade the go-ahead and they’ve gone off to visit him.
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