the Clutches of this Inquisitive Coniwable.Coniwable: a play on constable and cony (a slang term for the vulva or female sexuality); the expression also evokes conycatcher (a thief, a cheat, or a whoremonger). This Grey headed lump of grave Ignorance, takes as much Pride in being the most Officious Fool in his Parish, as a Victualler, does to be one of the Jury, or a Vintner to be made an Ensign of the Train-Bands. This is the most ill-natur’d Pragmatical Blockhead, that ever was centr’d in a Circle of Lanthorns; and if he had said our Heads had been made of Hackney-Turnips, one Word in contradiction would have cost us a Nights Lodging in the Counter; for he makes no more of committing a Man, than a Tavern-Drawer does of Kissing the Cook. And his Thirsty Retinue that attend him, are rare hard-mouth’d Fellows at an Oath; and can Swear as heartily as a Lancashire Evidence, you were Drunk, tho’ you drank nothing but Coffee in three days before; and that you abused the Constable, tho’ you gave him not an ill word; and Swore abundance of Oaths, tho’ your Communication (Quaker like) was nothing but Yea, yea, and Nay, nay.
The great good these Fellows do in the Streets, is to Disturb People every Hour with their Bawling, under pretence of taking care they may sleep quietly in their Beds; and call every old Fool by his Name seven times a Night, for fear he should rise and forget it next Morning; and often, instead of preventing Mischief, make it; by carrying honest Persons to the Counter, who would fain walk Peaceably home to their own Habitations: And provoke Gentlemen, by their Sauciness, to commit those Follies, ’tis properly their Business to prevent. In short, it is reasonable enough to believe, they play more Rogues Tricks than ever they detect, and occasion more Disturbances in the Streets than ever they hinder.
By this time we were come to Billingsgate; and in a narrow Lane, as dark as a Burying Vault, which Stunk of stale Sprats, Piss, and Sirreverence, we groped about, like a couple of Thieves in a Cole-hole, to
find the Entrance of that Nocturnal Theatre, in whose delightful Scenes we propos’d to terminate the Nights felicity. At last we stumbled upon the Threshold of a Gloomy Cavern; where, at a distance, we saw, Lights burning like Candles in a Haunted Cave, where Ghosts and Gobblins keep their Midnight Revels.
We no sooner enter’d, but heard such a number of Female Tongues, so Promiscuously engag’d in a Mess of Tittle-Tattle, That had a Water-man knock’d down his Wife with his Stretcher, and been trying for the Fact by a Parliament of Fish-Women, they could not have exercis’d their nimble Instruments with more impatience.
We e’en turn’d our selves into the Smoaky Boozing Ken amongst them; where round the Fire sat a tatter’d Assembly of Fat Motherly Flat-caps, with their Fish-Baskets hanging upon their Heads instead of Riding-hoods, with every one her Nipperkin of warm Ale and Brandy; and as many Rings upon their Thumbs as belongs to a suit of Bed-Curtains. Everyone as Slender in the Waste as a Dutch Skipper in the Buttocks; and look’d together, like a Litter of Squab Elephants. Their Noses were as sharp as the Gnomon of a Dial, and look’d as Blew as if they had been Frost-nip’d. Their Cheeks were as plump as an Infants Buttocks, but adorn’d with as many Crimson Carnossities as the Face of a Noblemans Butler, who has liv’d Forty Years in a Family; and plainly proved by the depth of their colour, That Brandy is a Nobler Die than Claret. Their Tongues were as loud as the Temple-Horn, that calls the Cuckold-makers to their Commons: And every word they spoke was at least in the Pitch of double Gammut. Their chief clamour was against High-heads and Patches; and said it would have been a very good Law, if Q. Mary had effected her design, & brought the proud Minks’s of the