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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. “The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett. Sheppard, with a deep sigh, perceiving that her benefactor hesitated to pronounce the word. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. ’ ‘A very low stratagem, Hilary,’ Gerald said, turning on his captain with mock severity. It was for ever. How Jack Sheppard got out of the Condemned Hold 310 XI. I’ll be waiting for you outside.
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