8. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. He is in Newgate. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold.
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