Mr. " He drew down the lamp and blew it out, and followed her into the night, more lovely than he had ever imagined night to be. The worst was over now. For some seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and neither spoke. 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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