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Windhover
Member

since 2003-11-17

Posts 179
UK

0 posted 2009-05-07 03:34 PM

'Twixt Holborn Hill and Cheapside, there doth stand the most ungodly mile
in London Town... t'is known as Newgate, where the Gaol... that festering pile
of sweating stone, all Newgate Street, on both sides, fouls the very air;
and, such a parcel of the failings of mankind do languish there.
The Traveller, unschooled in knowing of this place, may yet surmise
that it is, but a City gate that stands before his curious eyes.
Thrice gated, with the principal below the arch... the thoroughfare,
portcullised and malevolent; below each tower... a'crouching there;
subordinates, both left and right, of sturdy Oak, nail-studded round.
Diverse delights; Gaol fever and The Pox, herein are certain found,
and modest sport... the pressments, brandings, whippings freely will avail,
and more...
Abandon hope, an' here, ye enter ... this be Newgate Gaol.

An' ye should avert thy gaze and progress up... the whole, to see;
betwixt the close-barred casements ye shall spy, niched in, three effigies
all carved in stone; one likeness that purports to be sweet Justice, fair;
yet, an' ye contemplate more closely... something then, amiss is there.
For, it is not for nothing, that ye spy she holds no scales abroad
in her left hand, and in her right... naught, but a raised, and naked sword.
Hard by the gate, against the Keepers house, there is a cheerless room
called, by prisoners in this place... The Lodge; where first, they taste their doom;
all hung about with leg-irons, and with manacles, and shackles too.
Here, the Keeper doth receive his fee and, 'aye... such easement due
as he can cozen from his charges; mayhap, coin, or chattles rare;
perchance, a round of drink for Keeper, Turnkeys, Smiths, and others there.

No need for coin... it can be scored against such prospects swift devised
by family, when of thy dire calamity, they be apprised.
Yet, an' ye do gainsay this tribute, then, ye shall most certainly
find thyself made gift of Fifty pounds of iron, cuffed chafingly.
For, Justice here, is Justice bought, alas; an' ye should lack the coin
to furnish easement to the Turnkeys, then, ye shall, most surely join
the dregs of London's Stews, all tumbled noisome, in the Common Side;
a rat-infested, stinking Midden... Christian decency denied.
And, yet... there is still more; for here, the Understrappers do hold sway;
self-appointed coxcombs who, by crass malfeasance, rule the day,
seeking out, what they call "Garnish"... yet more coin to ease thy plight,
demur... thy catechism... gauntlet running, 'aye, this very night.

The Common Felon's side... a great morass of stink, stench, and despair;
the rich, fat reek of open buckets used as house of office, there.
The subtler smell of sweated bodies, clothing long fouled... flat, sour breaths;
the braggart tales... the drunken whoring... endless bawdy, swinish jests.
Yet, this be all a paradise, should, by misfortune, ye compare
all this, with what lies at the nether end of yonder passage, there.
For here, there is a cell, all underground; a hatch ... a ladder down;
stone-built, some twenty paces square, wherein, ye cannot grasp a sound.
An open sewer splits the cell in twain, with foetid water filled;
iron staples fixed to floor and walls... this then, the evil, Condemned Hold.
A tamer, most miraculous, of riotous rogues and desperate scum;
a most persuasive, swift extractor of fees from proud, stubborn men.

And, this too, is the Condemned hold... empty then, of everything
except thick darkness, smell of sweating granite, rot... all lingering.
The rustle and the squeak of rats... the crack of vermin under heel;
the stench from out the open ditch, and something else... a smell, a feel.
A flat, and musty eminence that strikes raw terror to the heart...
the essence of Gaol Fever; fatal as the Plague, when once it starts.
With small chance of escape, for it is always with thee in the Hold,
and it can bring the sweat out in a man on nights, when it be cold
enough to form thin ice upon the fester in the open sewer;
and it will take eight out of ten... the Plague, they say, claims many fewer.
And when ye lie upon thy back, with iron bars wedged 'cross thigh and chest,
betwixt the staples; ye will know why Common Felon's side be best.

Yet, an' ye be more fortunate than by White Hag, to be despoiled,
then... there are more diverse ways for shuffling off thy mortal coil.
Mayhap... six inches of cold steel be'twixt the shoulders, slipped, with ease?
A tumble down into the hold? a broken bone... a sure release.
Or mayhap, just the gallows dance; Old Bailey... or on Tyburn Tree?
The public sport commensurate with thy notoriety.
And, in the Common Felon's side, ye may well hear diversions, choice;
mayhap, a felon practising his Gallows speech with trembling voice.
Again, mayhap, the giggles, soft... of doxies, ponced from Phoenix Court
by the Turnkeys for a price, to furnish the condemned some sport.
Their final sinful act... some uncouth rutting, deep into the night,
and then, soft creeping with the morn... the dawning of their dreadful plight.

Then, a most miraculous recant... fresh Godly, pleadingly
beseeching mercy for a swift release to their Eternity.
Whereupon, the doors burst open, Turnkeys haul them to the light,
awaiting in the Press-yard; then behold... their transports of delight.
The Tumbril? or the Hurdle? or the fettered shuffle?... which then, will
be drawn upon the hurdle, east through Cheapside, on... to Tower Hill?
There, to embrace a Traitors Death... the hanging, and the cutting down
alive;
castration, and the paunching... entrails then, all strewn around
and burnt before a press of cheering rabble; then, the quartering;
the head struck off, and piked upon The Bridge... a fearsome, evil thing.
A consummate abomination; fashioned, God's fear to impart
to those who would plot Treason; 'aye, to bring black dread into their hearts.

Those commonly condemned, do mount the Tumbril, and they all go West
out along the Holborn Road; at High Holborn... sometimes, they rest.
Mayhap, a final pot of ale... an' to the crowd, they pleasing be;
yet, it is, but some small respite; for soon, they shall greet Tyburn Tree.
And there, shall be despatched in parcels of mayhap, then... three or four,
all dancing on the hempen rope, whilst pressing crowds yet cry for more.
Meanwhile, the lesser of this crew be shuffled to Old Bailey street
and swung upon the scaffold there, while urchins, severally compete
for keepsakes, and for talismans to proffer to the Gentry there
a'watching;
some small scrap of cloth... a blackened tooth... a lock of hair.
For this, then, is the sport played out each S'ennight, at St Giles Assize;
with scurvy, forsworn Justices dispensing doom with jaundiced eyes.

Remember then; when next, a progress in the Town, ye so decide;
accomplishing from High Holborn, the distance thence, down to Cheapside,
perchance, partaking at The Belle Sauvage... a pleasing hostelry,
or, laying out a shilling on some trinket, or some frippery.
As ye descend down Holborn Hill and sally into Skinners Street;
about the juncture of Old Bailey... La!... the prospect that ye seek.
Make ye now, familiar with the edifice of Newgate Gaol,
ominous and smoke begrimed... take pause, and contemplate this tale.
For, what ye lay out in The Cheap, could score the easement, a S'ennight,
of some poor wretch, therein entombed; a'sampling Newgate's fair delights.
Make free thy knees, beseech thy God, ye never shall cause to avail
thyself of, in thy darkest dreams... the diverse charms of Newgate Gaol!

Kaoru

Member Elite

since 2003-06-07

Posts 3892
where the wild flowers grow

1 posted 2009-05-07 03:40 PM

I'm pretty certain that I enjoyed the entirety of this. Took me awhile, because I'm a slow reader, but upon further inspection of certain bits and pieces methinks this is genius work.

suthern

Member Seraphic

since 1999-07-29

Posts 20723
Louisiana

2 posted 2009-05-11 02:13 PM

one likeness that purports to be sweet Justice, fair;
yet, an' ye contemplate more closely... something then, amiss is there.
For, it is not for nothing, that ye spy she holds no scales abroad
in her left hand, and in her right... naught, but a raised, and naked sword.

Instead of wearing her blindfold, Justice was willfully blind... as this place passed punishment and became hell on earth.

Very well written... you gave me shivers. *S*

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