"Hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. Such was the hubbub and tumult around him, that the carpenter could not hear its plunge into the flood. "Bring him back with you. He is extremely old—forty at least—and he has a belly excessively fat. 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. ’ ‘What matters it?’ cried Melusine impatiently.
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