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. A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. ‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’ Gerald held up his hands. “No power on earth will persuade me we’re not two rather disreputable persons. ' It is signed JACK SHEPPARD. She wants that and needs it more than anything else in the world.
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