| Citation |
NECO.725.012
30 Oct-6 Nov 1725:11,12,21,22 (223)
. . . [Life of Jonathan Wild, continued]
He had another sort of gentleman under his command, whom in
the cant or language of the profession, he distinguished by
the same or Spruce Prigs; these were persons not qualified
for the bold and manly employment of knocking down, house-
breaking, &c. But being persons of address and behaviour,
were dispatch'd to court on birth-nights, to balls, operas,
plays & assemblies, for which purpose they were furnish'd
with laced coats, brocade waistcoats, fine perriwigs, and
sometimes equipp'd with handsome equipages such as chariots
with footmen in liveries, and also valets de chambres, the
servants being all thieves like the masters.
This body of gentlemen were generally chose out of such as
had been foot men, who by waiting at tables, and frequenting
publick places with their masters and mistresses, knew
something of the address and discourse used among gentlemen;
and the better to qualify them to acquit themselves
handsomly at balls, Jonathan sometimes paid a dancing master
to teach them to dance; that is, after he lost his own
dancing master, the celebrated Mr. Lun, who died in his own
profession, viz. dancing; being hang'd at Kingston, for a
robbery on the highway, who he sometimes said was a great
loss to the corporation.
There were another class of the same sort of gentlemen,
but [who were more plain and men of quality] . . the places
which they haunted most, were Sadlers Wells, and all the
hops about the town: They were also great practicers of the
art of dancing; and some of them were famous for hornpipes.
Their business was to promote country dancing, and while
the young fellows, and their girls were very earnest at
their diversion, they were to assist a confederate for
nothing cou'd be done without a partner; to carry off the
silver swords and canes if there were any; whilst the dancer
himself was to stand his ground, always pretending to have
lost a cane, or hat, amongst the rest and making the
greatest clamor of all. . .
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