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London Spy. Both men and women, it appears, were whipped on their naked backs before the court of governors. The president sat with his hammer in his hand, and the culprit was taken from the post when the hammer fell. The calls to _knock_ when women were flogged were loud and incessant.
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Oh, good Sir Robert, knock! Pray, good Sir Robert, knock! which became at length a common cry of reproach among the lower orders, to denote that a woman had been whipped in Bridewell. Madame Creswell, the celebrated procuress of King Charles II.'s reign, died a prisoner in Bridewell. She desired by _will_ to have a sermon preached at her funeral, for which the preacher was to have £10, but upon this express condition, that he was to say nothing but what was well of her. A preacher was with some difficulty found who undertook the task. He, after a sermon preached on the general subject of mortality, concluded with saying,
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By the will of the deceased, it is expected that I should mention her, and say nothing but what was _well_ of her. All that I shall say of her, therefore, is this: She was born _well_, she lived _well_, and she died _well_; for she was born with the name of Cres_well_, she lived in Clerken_well_, and she died in Bride_well_.
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It was also a hospital for indigent persons. Twenty art-masters (decayed traders) were also lodged, and received about 140 apprentices. The boys, after learning tailoring, weaving, flax-dressing, &c., received the freedom of the City, and donations of £10 each. Many of these boys, says Hatton,
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They wore a blue dress and white hats, and attended fires, with an engine belonging to the hospital. The lads at last became so turbulent, that in 1785 their special costume was abandoned.
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Job's Pound was the old cant name for Bridewell, and it is so called in
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Hudibras.
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Harlot's Progress, finished in 1733 (George II.), is laid in Bridewell. There, in a long, dilapidated, tiled shed, a row of female prisoners are beating hemp on wooden blocks, while a truculent-looking warder, with an apron on, is raising his rattan to strike a poor girl not without some remains of her youthful beauty, who seems hardly able to lift the heavy mallet, while the wretches around leeringly deride her fine apron, laced hood, and figured gown. There are two degraded men among the female hemp-beaters--one an old card-sharper in laced coat and foppish wig; another who stands with his hands in a pillory, on which is inscribed the admonitory legend,
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Better to work than stand thus.
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EMPRESS OF MOROCCO
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Prisons.