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I always sy to Bert we 'ave the most interestin' pubs in London on this route, White 'Orse, the 'Orns, the Elephant an' the Ayngel. Ever 'eard of the Ayngel at Islington?" "Yes," said John, "That's where Paine wrote The Rights of Man." "Did 'e?" the driver answered. "Well, I dessay 'e did. It's a celebrated 'ouse, it is. Celebrated in 'istory. There's a song abaht it. You know it, down't you!...
"An' thet's the Royal Exchynge owver there, an' this 'ere is the Mansion 'Ouse where the Lord Mayor lives. I can't stop to tell you no more. Ayngel, Ayngel, Ayngel! Any more for the Ayngel?..." Several persons climbed on to the 'bus, and then, after attempting to persuade people, anxious to go to Charing Cross, to go to the Angel at Islington instead, the conductor rang his bell.
Up and dahn the City Rowd, In at the Ayngel... Thet's the wy the money gows, Pop gows the weasel. Ever 'eard thet?" "Oh, yes," John replied, smiling. "I used to sing that song at home!" "Did you nah. An' w'ere is your 'ome?" "In Ireland!" "Ow! Thet acahnts for it. I couldn't myke aht 'ow it was you never 'eard of the 'Orns. Fency you hearin' abaht the Elephant in Ireland!"
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