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. We shall be equally matched. Cosette sat under the table, still as a
mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the
chains. . . Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. "No bones broken, I hope," said Thames, laughing at Jack, who limped towards
the bench, rubbing his shins as he went. On Sunday, he was conveyed to the chapel, through which he had passed on the
occasion of his great escape, and once more took his seat in the Condemned
Pew. I was to
blame to carry the matter so far. In this state, he contrived to get the poor black's hand into his mouth, and
nearly bit off one of his fingers before the sufferer could be rescued. Only promise me this. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like
languid as the night sky.
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This video was uploaded to ggapts.xyz on 29-06-2024 21:53:57