‘Rather would I die than fall in with such a plan. Now, however, as Gerald watched them, their heads were together and they were murmuring in French. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. In fact, Gerald had given order to the coachman to drive out of Golden Square and then stop around the corner.
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