Here the ribs of a thousand pounds beating against the Needles—
those dangerous rocks, credulity here floated, to and fro, silks, stuffs, camlets,
and velvet, without giving place to each other, according to their dignity; here
rolled so many pipes of canary, whose bungholes lying open, were so damaged
that the merchant may go hoop for his money," A less picturesque, but more
truthful, and, therefore, more melancholy description of the same scene, is
furnished by the shrewd and satirical Ned Ward, who informs us, in the
"Delectable History of Whittington's College," that "When the prisoners are
disposed to recreate themselves with walking, they go up into a spacious room,
called the Stone Hall; where, when you see them taking a turn together, it would
puzzle one to know which is the gentleman, which the mechanic, and which the
beggar, for they are all suited in the same garb of squalid poverty, making a
spectacle of more pity than executions; only to be out at the elbows is in fashion
here, and a great indecorum not to be threadbare. And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid. That there Frenchie didn’t look
any too friendly to me. She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw
there strange things. I
almost wish we hadn't come. This is not honourable. As if we didn’t know! The practical trouble is our ages. "No. Pitt?"
"There is no mistake, Sir," rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up, "I am Jack
Sheppard.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 30-06-2024 14:34:50