This is no place for me. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. 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 you want me to find a minister?" she asked, with ready comprehension. I’m not to study, I’m not to grow.
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This video was uploaded to auctionswatch.info on 18-05-2024 19:46:18
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