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. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. “Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier,” he said. Her steps slowed.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 19-09-2024 17:34:41
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