It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. 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. Without whisky," went on McClintock, "your irritability is beyond tolerance. The Dawn Pearl. ’ ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. “That’s all,” she said “I’m afraid I’m a little confused about these things. I asked you to go. But not once in these ten years had they borne blossom or fruit.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ4LjEwMy4yMTAgLSAyMS0wOS0yMDI0IDExOjI0OjEwIC0gMTY2Njg2MjAzMg==
This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 16-09-2024 18:15:33
Related resources: Ref1 - Ref2 - Ref3 - Ref4 - Ref5 - Ref6 - Ref7 - Ref8 - Ref9