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Wood, I forget nothing. 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. ‘And with my grandfather Charvill also so very angry, it was not perhaps so very comfortable for my father. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city.
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This video was uploaded to freechristian.online on 29-06-2024 13:26:33
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