Forgive me if a certain warmth creeps into my words! The Park is green and gray to-day, but I am glowing pink and gold. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. "He's here. 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.
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