These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. At length, after he had given up the point from sheer exhaustion, the Amazon seized him by the throat, and pushed him backwards with such force that he rolled over the counter. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. He was offered the Bowl, but he left it and smiled, Crying, "Keep it till call'd for by JONATHAN WILD! "The rascal one day, "Will pass by this way, "And drink a full measure to moisten his clay! "And never will Bowl of Saint Giles have beguiled "Such a thorough-paced scoundrel as JONATHAN WILD!" V. Presently. If you can imagine it, I survived it. " "In what way, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, in astonishment.
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