He did not even reply to her for several minutes. 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. Then, if
you are bad to me, I can more easily blow off your head. What his head conceived his hand executed. The stranger started at the
touch, and spoke. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed
amongst the assemblage.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyNC42NS4xMDYgLSAwMy0wNy0yMDI0IDA4OjQxOjU3IC0gMTMzMDE5MDMyMw==
This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 02-07-2024 15:42:24