His age was not far from fifty. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. " "Damnation!" cried Jonathan, stamping his foot with uncontrollable rage. You'll tell me next, I dare say, that I recommended you to go and visit his mother so frequently under the plea of charity; to give her wine, and provisions, and money; to remove her from the only fit quarters for such people —the Mint; and to place her in a cottage at Willesden, of which you must needs pay the rent? Marry, come up! charity should begin at home. "'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. He begged their attention for the next turn.
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