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. Hoddy! All her fears fell away. ’ ‘I do not marry a man who makes me a threat like this,’ she flashed. Taber is the name. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way.
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