It mattered not whether she flunked the year as she would soon be gone. You are taking it for granted that I am ‘Alcide. “I brought a man with me who is posted outside,” he remarked. Again he rushed. 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. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. “We’ll go together.
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