And if you treat me in this way, you will have my death to answer for, as well as the deaths of my husband and child. 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. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. .
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