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Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 38: All Lombard-street to nine-pence on it. *Note. More usually Lombard St. to a china orange. There are several of these fanciful forms of betting – Chelsea College to a sentry-box; Pompey’s pillar to a stick of sealing-wax, etc. etc. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 38: All Lombard-street to nine-pence on it. *Note*. More usually Lombard St. to a china orange. There are several of these fanciful forms of betting – Chelsea College to a sentry-box; Pompey’s pillar to a stick of sealing-wax, etc. etc [F&H]. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 2: While you hum the poor spoonies with speeches, so pretty, / ’Bout Freedom, and Order, and – all my eye, Betty. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 6: With which the tag-rag will have nothing to do. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress xxviii: A sow’s baby, a pig. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 25: While the fiddlers (old Potts having tipp’d them a bandy) / Play’d ‘Green grow the rushes,’ in honour of SANDY! Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 25: On which the whole Populace flash’d the white grin / Like a basket of chips, and poor GEORGY gave in. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 51: But aged, slow, with stiff limbs, tottering much, / And lungs, that lack’d the bellows-mender’s touch. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 4: Till Brown Bess shall soon, like Miss Tabitha Fusty, / For want of a spark to go off with, grow rusty. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 42: Then up rose Ward, the veteran Joe, / And ’twixt his whiffs, suggested briefly / That but A few at first, should go / And those, the light-weight Gemmen chiefly; / As if too many ‘Big ones’ went, / They might alarm the Continent!! Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 10: C-NN-G came in on a job, and then canter’d about / On a showy, but hot and unsound, bit of blood. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 37: To share the spoil and grab the bit. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 40: For though all know that flashy spark [etc.]. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 33: Last Friday night a bang-up set / Of milling blades at BELCHER’S met. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 46: Says BILL, ‘there’s nothing like a Bull: / ‘And blow me tight’. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 36: Where all your high pedestrian pads [...] Agree to share the blunt and tattlers! Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 25: While M-RL-Y, that very great Count, stood deploring, / He hadn’t taught GEORGY his new modes of boring. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 40: Yet, now, such loving pals are they, / That georgy [...] Is proud to be his bottle-holder! Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 27: The shiners! Lord, Lord, what a bounce do I say! / As if we could hope to have rags done away. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 27: Many of the words used by the Canting Beggars in Beaumont and Fletcher, and the Gipsies in Ben Jonon’s Masque, are still to be heard among the Gnostics of Dyot-street and Tothill-fields. To prig is still to steal; bouzing-ken, an alehouse; cove a fellow. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 17: And the chat is that NAP, when he had him in tow, / Found his knowledge-box always the first thing to go. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 7: The Buffers, both boys of the Holy Ground [...] It is almost needless to add that the Holy Ground, or Land, is a well-known region of St. Giles’s. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 18: What with clouts on the nob, / Home hits in the bread-basket, clicks in the gob. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 5: But, though we must hope for such good times as these, / Yet as something may happen to kick up a breeze. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 35: As we’d been summon’d thus, to quaff / Our Deady o’er some State Affairs [...] Deady’s gin, otherwise, Deady’s brilliant stark naked. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 7: The Buffers, both ‘Boys of the Holy Ground’. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 46: BILL GIBBONS ne’er / In all his days was known to swear, / Except light oaths, to grace his speeches, / Like ‘dash my wig,’ or ‘burn my breeches!’. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 40: This buttering-up, against the grain, We thought was curs’d genteel in BOB. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 12: Each threw up his castor, ’mid general huzzas. Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress 18: And when GEORGY, one time, got the head of the Bear / Into Chancery [...] Getting the head under the arm, for the purpose of fibbing.