” She let him make love to her that night. ” She raked into the fire with the poker. “Why don’t you wear your white blouse more often? It is the prettiest shirt you own. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. . . 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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