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No. 182 [from The Spectator]
by [?]

In a word, Sir, it is in the Power of you, and such as I hope you are, to make it as infamous to rob a poor Creature of her Honour as her Cloaths. I leave this to your Consideration, only take Leave (which I cannot do without sighing) to remark to you, that if this had been the Sense of Mankind thirty Years ago, I should have avoided a Life spent in Poverty and Shame.

I am, Sir, Your most humble Servant, Alice Threadneedle.

Round-House, Sept. 9.


‘I am a Man of Pleasure about Town, but by the Stupidity of a dull Rogue of a Justice of Peace, and an insolent Constable, upon the Oath of an old Harridan, am imprisoned here for Theft, when I designed only Fornication. The Midnight Magistrate, as he conveyed me along, had you in his Mouth, and said, this would make a pure Story for the SPECTATOR. I hope, Sir, you won’t pretend to Wit, and take the Part of dull Rogues of Business. The World is so altered of late Years, that there was not a Man who would knock down a Watchman in my Behalf, but I was carried off with as much Triumph as if I had been a Pick-pocket. At this rate, there is an end of all the Wit and Humour in the World. The Time was when all the honest Whore-masters in the Neighbourhood would have rose against the Cuckolds to my Rescue. If Fornication is to be scandalous, half the fine things that have been writ by most of the Wits of the last Age may be burnt by the common Hangman. Harkee, [Mr.] SPEC, do not be queer; after having done some things pretty well, don’t begin to write at that rate that no Gentleman can read thee. Be true to Love, and burn your Seneca. You do not expect me to write my Name from hence, but I am

Your unknown humble, etc.’