The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. Will you please—Not now, or I must go. 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. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets. The only circumstance which served to awaken a darker feeling in his breast was, that his implacable foe Jonathan Wild had survived the wound inflicted by Blueskin, and was slowly recovering.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 18-09-2024 01:00:35
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