"Drink your peg; don't bother about me. “It’s fine, Michelle. T’weren’t fitting, we knew that. 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. But some people have no consideration. It was everyone's favorite meal. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. His number was unlisted and unpublished.
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