It spread out its wings, fitted them carefully into place again, ducked its head for a moment, as though making a sort of obeisance to the sun, and then began to pour forth a torrent of song. Tina Tyler Tits. With a sort of grave courtesy he completed the stanza Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clements, You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St Martins, When will you pay me say the bells of Old Bailey When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch.