Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan. E below. On one side of the handbill a print of the reigning sovereign, Anne, had been pinned over the portrait of William the Third, whose aquiline nose, keen eyes, and luxuriant wig, were just visible above the diadem of the queen. “It isn’t a joke,” she said.
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