HARRIS’s LIST
OF
Covent-Garden Ladies:
OR,
NEW ATLANTIS
For the YEAR .
[Price Two Shillings and Six-pence.]
HARRIS’s LIST
OF
Covent-Garden Ladies:
OR,
NEW ATLANTIS
For the YEAR .
To which is annexed,
The GHOST of MOLL KING;
OR A
NIGHT at DERRY ’s.
LONDON:
Printed for H. Ranger, near Temple-Bar.
.
ADVERTISEMENT.
SEVERAL ladies truly eminent for their amorous pursuits, have sent their just complaints to us, for our having omitted them in the first part of Harris’s List; wherein they insist, with all female vehe mence, that if they did not deserve a preference, they had at least an un doubted claim to a place there, as well as the most reactive she which it exhibited to view.
In regard to the choice of the la dies made in the first part, we beg leave to declare, it proceeded from no attachment or biass in us. But they being the personages whose intrigues were most universally spoken of, and
whose celebrated names were in almost every body's mouth determined us on setting out with them.
We hope that this candid declaration will remove all the resentment of whatever adventuring ladies were omitted; promising, that if like the girls of whom we are going to treat in this list for the year One thousand Seven hundred and Sixty one, they will send us the anecdotes of their private engagements and places of abode, they shall have all due honour paid in our next for the year Sixty-two.
The great success the first part of this work has been favoured with, is sufficient apology for our giving a second; and it is with the most sin
sincere cere and patriot pleasure, we inform the public, that the moral intention of our work has been answered, viz. the promotion of the genuine and natural intercourse of fondness between the two sexes.
We thought it incumbent upon us to make this declaration, and hope that all candid and impartial persons, who shall peruse our curious performance, (which we assure our readers, has cost no small trouble and enquiry) will treat all idle cavilling and pedantic objections against us with that disregard and contempt they so justly deserve.
In short, the present work cannot be looked upon in the light of romance or novel, merely to draw the attention
of the idly curious, or to render more effeminate the already debauched with fictitious pictures of lascivious women; for we can assert that the facts herein contained have been most authentically proved to us.
[The remarkable introduction prefixed to our first part having been universally admired, at the request of several gentlemen and ladies who have honoured us with their assistance, we shall here insert it, in order to render the whole more complete.]
THE
INTRODUCTION
Love considered as the first impulse of Nature; the advantages derived to society from women of pleasure. An essay upon keeping, and its virtues. An address to keepers.
IN the succession of natural things, their progress, and decay, individuals seem, like atoms in the sun beam, of little moment, in the great scale of providence; the preservation of the species in general appears to ingross the whole scope and attention of nature, she is eternally busy in supplying the place of particulars that fall under the hand of
time, and by a kind of plastic renovation, revives in a blooming offspring the departed fire; and if you trace nature thro' all the various motions in her wide extent, she will be every where found to tend to one great act of love. To attempt a suppression of this almighty impulse in the human species, would be a talk as rash and idle as to bid the hills touch heaven. All coersive bars, all artificial fences thrown up by the hand of power against this prolific ardor, this essential act, have hitherto in all communities, and will for ever, be overleapt and trampled down.
The mighty call will be obeyed, and men and women always rebel against such weak restrictions; that generous frenzy which invigorates the soul is invincible, and must command. Why
then such incessant clamours against its votaries? Why are the insults of the venal justice, or of the rough hewn muzzy monarch of the night permited? Their number is rather increased than lessened by persecution, which in this, as in cases of a higher nature, rather contributes to advance than lessen the point at which it aims. No enthusiasm is so strong, so stimulous as that of copulation; it brings its warrant from nature's closest cabinet, and bears even, the seal of heaven. Increase and multiply;
all nature ecchoes to the universal mandate.
If it be a true position that whatever is, is right, why shall the victims of this natural propensity, the volunteers of Venus, the fairest of creation, be hunted like outcasts from society, be
perpetually griped by the hand of petty tyranny? Do they not sacrifice their health, their lives, nay, their reputations, at the altars of love and benevolence? Let the severest virtue reflect with me a little, and that they are of vast use to the community will be surely allowed.
What villanies do they not avert? What plots, what combinations do they not dissolve? Clasped in the arms of beauty, the factious malecontent forgets the black workings of his soul! Here even the miser feels some throbbings of human delight; stealing himself, half unwilling, from his nature, he for a short space smuggles some small benevolence, and before he departs is prevailed on to leave his soul behind—a guinea—What a miracle!
does not this give them more than common sanction? For what miracle can exceed the opening a miser's heart?
In the fair ones embrace the prodigal escapes from the fang of the gamester; nor is he laid open to the wiles of the sharper. With her the youth is taught the lesson of his mind, practised in genuine taste, and learns the native use of things. Here the drunkard drops awhile his swinish appetite, and gazes like a man, upon beauty. The lawyer in the case of love forgets his quirks and equivocation, and is for that short space honest and erect. Covent-garden, that aggregate of sweets, that Lethe of the soul! I behold the merchant stealing from business and the city, under the mask of night, to the apartment of his Thais, where, forgetful of carking
cares, no more remembering the rough sea, the bold wind, nor the dangers of the long-expected ship, his heart expands with transport; the list of bankrupts remains unread; and her lovely bosom yields him the highest of sublunary bliss. Nor does the parson forget these walks; here even he sometimes vouchsafes to call, prompted to be sure by a righteous spirit, to exhort the sisterhood to social duties; and sometimes perhaps interlines a psalm with a visit.
But these are private instances of the advantages reflected upon community, by the fair followers of the Cyprian queen: these advantages are trivial when compared to the public good they occasion, though custom has embronzed them with the infamous ap-
appelation pellation of prostitute. Do we not owe to them the peace of families, of cities, nay of kindoms? This is a point of light in which they are seldom considered: it is here that rigor will unbend its brow, and severity relax its edge. Were they removed, which fate forbid! by hypocritic power, think how terrible might the consequences be? For the restless propagating spirit, the stimulating energy implanted in us, will work its way: deprive it of food, will bars, bolts, or authority protect the honour of the wife, the chastity of the daughter, or the pious matron's virtue? This wild frenzy breaking all restraint, will bear down decency, relation, kindred, and religion—what domestic bane! what warfare of humanity! litigation! blood-shed! incest!—but I forbear,
fancy trembles to revolve the horrid anarchy, and the mind declines to dictate.
Say then, ye who have fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, friends whom ye love, whom ye esteem, will ye not stretch your hand hereafter to protect; will ye not cease to persecute the sisterhood, whom reason tells ye, ye ought to defend? Gratitude will inform you that you ought; why named I gratitude; alas! I had forgotten that it is an unpractised worn-out virtue; or brutal rigor, disguised like, and miscalled justice, would be taken off from prosecuting these benevolent friends to the public good, these preservers of general tranquillity, who lay aside all that hypocrisy admires, all that fashion with her varnished glass reflects as
amiable upon the eye of folly, who sacrifice esteem, rank, and sometimes even life, like the martyrs of old, in their country's sacred cause; yet even in this cause do they suffer stripes, imprisonments, and custom has entailed upon them contempt: unjust proceeding!
To the glory of the city, be it remarked that in her bosom have lately sprung up some public spirits, some whose hearts teem with grateful remembrance, some few who feel for the common good, who see with pity's eye those weak individuals languish under tyrant laws, most infringed by the makers of them. Such patriot souls, to the honour of this age, even now exist, who with manly hearts have considered this deplorable case,
and opened a retreat for hunted or deserted beauty: how good, how gracious, how venerable is such an assembly of keepers, who never shut the gates against harrassed worth, but deal out comfort to the oppressed with the hand of liberality! Why should the name of a keeper be treated with ridicule? Is not their keeping a proof of their beneficence, which is thereby extended to every rank and station.
The lovely nymphs, that share in their bounty, have hearts as large, as universal as their desires, and the whole race of mankind are the object of their warm regard. Like true citizens of life, they scatter blessings with unrestrained munisicence. Neither the dread of want, nor care of children, checks their rapid career, their course
is like the Nile, it enriches wherever it overflows. Spittlefields rejoices at their approach; and the famed magazine in the Hay-market cheers up at their name. The toyman, the mercer, the milliner, the play and opera, nay even the parish church (sometimes) is gladdened with the chink of their gold: for whatever exceptions the parson may pretend to make to their calling, he has none to their purses; and for rates, taxes, and repairs, he calls upon them as well as the rest of his flock.
How many a youth, vigorous and comely, does not the kept mistress preserve from jail, nay the gibbett, by sharing with him the allowance of her keeper: the brawny life-guardman, the well made grenadier, whose pay being too narrow for his soul,
would otherwise raise contributions on the public, is by her protected, and his finances enlarged.
The generous keeper cannot grudge the allowance; nay, the good that his gold produces, thus communicated, will rather cheer his old heart. He will recollect that he is thereby saved the labour of tilling a soil which requires much culture, and yet is seldom prolific, nor will begrudge his hire to the labourer, who might otherwise fall a victim to offended justice. For the deliverance will he rejoice; in thinking that he has saved a citizen, he will, like an old woman, congratulate himself.
Persist, oh ye hoary seers! persist in the cause of keeping; in that you
shew yourselves friends to charity, virtue, and the state; continue to cherish these gifts of heaven; still hug to your bosom the cordial, the reviving warmth communicated by youth and beauty: to the dear girl whom you shall reflect, be your purse-strings never closed; nor let the name of prostitute, deter you from this pious resolve. Listen not to unmannerly prudence, let her not argue you from the good purpose, for she will sometimes justle forward, when passion subsides. What is there in the idea of prostitution, to which the greatest characters are not sometimes subservient? It is not only in the purlieus of Covent-Garden that prostitutes are to be found. They flourish in courts, in senates, in halls of justice, in fleets and armies; nor is the sacred porch secure from the
approach. Is the soft, the gentle minion of love, so great a prostitute, as him who, beneath a scarlet robe, and the dignity of lordships, conceals a mind fraught with corruption? Is not the minister of state, who sacrifices his country's honour to his private interest; the admiral, whom venality teaches to avoid the reflects of an enemy; or the general, whom gold allures from the path of conquest, more guilty than her? These are the real prostitutes, that defile the streams of public virtue, and taint a nation's glory. On these, should justice aim the angry bolt, and vengeance hurl her fiery dart: nor let the black gown escape him, who in the pulpit asserts the cause of religion, which he descends to make a joke of; who holds forth in public in defence of every
virtue, and in private is the common encourager of vice. These are classes that should bow under the rod of Astrea.
But to you, ye nymphs, whom elastic spirits prompt to propagate the joys of soft endearments, to sooth the soul with the Circean cup of pleasure; to you may laws and magistrates be kind; with you may the statesman, the soldier, the parson, the lawyer, and the merchant share his treasure.
But never may that caitiff, called a surgeon, be found within your walls; guard against his approach, as you value life, and its support; avoid with care the contaminated embrace. Remember still your keeper; sooth his lambent flame; preserve the tepid
wish alive. With wise expedients rouze up faint desire, and make him young again. Consider, if you should neglect your keeper, your broad-backed gallant will lack his well deserved supply. Keepers are the sinews of your trade; may they multiply in number and in wealth; may they be always ready and willing to keep up the call as honest nature bids: so shall the public good be invigorated: the cause of virtue be promoted; and the hateful name of Ganymede blotted from the book of memory.
HARRIS’s LIST
A
Bet Anson, Prince's-Street, Leicester-Fields.
A Tall, agreeable woman, not with very regular features, but rather handsome than otherwise. She has lived many year on the town, and changed her name almost as often as her lodgings. The company of surgeons have been extremely obliged to her, in the course of her and their practice. She takes her name at present from
worthy gentleman, who she swears formerly to have been debauched by.
Nelly And-rson, Dean Street, Soho.
A squat, swarthy round faced wench, from the other side of the Tweed. She has of late seldom been in London, but during the winter, having kept her summer residence at the different camps, being a particular admirer of red coats. It is to this kind of company we must attribute her swearing, drinking, and talking bawdy, which she does with as good a grace as any of the bunters of Drury-Lane. She, however, has her charms; the territories of Venus are very agreeably situated; and she does not leave all the work to her bedfellow. She was once kept by Capt. W—, and sometimes goes by his name.
Polly Adams, in the Strand.
Of this lady we know little more than that she is middle-sized, with grey eyes, and light hair. She takes her name (which is a travelling one) from the famous Jockey Adams, whose exploits, in the character of a strolling player, are known in every village in the kingdom.
Polly A-mstrong, Warwick-Street, Golden-Square.
This young lady was formerly a milliner, in which capacity she was debauched by a young officer of the Guards; and leaving off her business (of which she had never very much) for some time lived with him on bare subsistance; but finding lieutenants pay but bad support for two, he mustered up five guineas, and put her in
a way of doing for herself. She accordingly began to see company, as the phrase is, and soon became a girl of reputation. The small-pox, which she has had within these two years, has altered her, but still she is a desirable girl, and a man need not be very hungry, to make a love-meal upon her.
Nancy Aust-n, James-Street, Covent-Garden.
The first appearance of Nancy was in the character of a milkmaid at Richmond, where she was viewed with desiring eyes by many a young Jew, and her ruddy complexion made the mouth of many rich citizen water on a Sunday, as he has seen her pass by the parlour window of the Dog-Tavern, where he has taken his
seat for the sake of a prospect. She once refused twenty guineas from a Jew, because he was circumcised, and flatly denied the favour to a banker with a large purse, because he was old, and took snuff: at present she is much cheaper; and, although she has rejected a rouleau, would take half a piece from Chartres, or the devil; so enlarged is her understanding, from commerce with the world. At length the impregnable fortress of her chastity was carried by a red coat and a long sword; and, like Bullock's sister in the play, she surrendered to the captain at discretion. A shilling to the play in her own town, which he gave her, introduced her first into public life. She fell in love with the principal performer, threw herself in his way, and though few people under
understandsstands trap better than him, he was persuaded he got her maidenhead. She then assumed his name, and took lodgings in London, where the enamoured swain constantly visited her, till a swelling in her groin gave him a strong proof of her infidelity, and he abandoned her to take lodgings near St. George's hospital. She is now sound wind and limb, and may be seen as usual at the R—e. Nancy has good brown hair, blue eyes, and a good leg: her waist is none of the best; but she is plump, and her skin white. In a word, take her all together, she is well enough; but her breath is none of the most fragrant.
[The reader is referred to the Appendix at the end of the List, for several names which came too late to be inserted alphabetically.]
B
Jenny Baskerville, York-Buildings.
THIS is a genteel girl, with regular features; her hair is of a most beautiful brown; her neck and breast excessively enchanting, and her behaviour in general polite, though not without a small tincture of innocent rusticity. She has not made her appearance above five weeks; and may be seen every fine evening in the Piazza, Covent-Garden, in company with an officer, who has lost an arm in nobly fighting for his country. Miss Baskerville was born near Litchfield, in Staffordshire; and we will venture to say she will in time add a new lustre to the annals of Cupid.
Miss Bellamy, near Chandois-Street.
This girl takes her name from a resemblance in features of an actress of capital merit now in Dublin. She was an inn-keeper's daughter at Ipswich, and eloped with a recruiting officer, who dropped her in the Strand. She is not tall; but neat and delicately made; her eye is of a fine grey, her hair brown, and, if not over-charged with strong liquors, has a peculiar manner of pleasing, and her conversation is entertaining.
Bet. Blaney, Katharine-Street, Strand.
A very pretty agreeable little Hibernian; but rather too wicked. She is said to belong to a good family on the other side of the water; but if so, is probably no more than a bastard. Her condition is very unequal, sometimes be-
being ing the foremost in the green boxes; sometimes upon half price in the upper gallery. She even now and then, on a dark evening, condescends to ask a pint of wine in the Strand. She is apt to have particular attachments, otherwise she might do well enough.
Polly B-tler, Pall-mall.
This young lady is also Irish, but in so high life, that we should not give her a place in this list, had we not been credibly informed, that when she first came over, with the late celebrated Miss Wemys, she used now and then to make her appearance at the Shakespear. Her skin is delicately white, her face an exact oval, her breasts small, but not so hard as one could wish. She is rather too flabby all the way down, to say the truth; but notwithstanding this
and a pair of thick legs, she has that which will make her companion ample recompence, in the mysterious compartments of Cupid's grotto.
Nancy Burroughs, near the Devil's-Gap, Drury-Lane.
Very impudent, and very ugly; chiefly a dealer with old fellows. It is reported she uses more birch rods in a week, than W—st—r school in a twelvemonth. In a word, this lady will condescend to oblige her companion in whatsoever way he likes, if she is but sure of being well paid for it.
Fanny Beith, Holborn.
Is at least five feet ten inches high, her complexion delicate, her features regular, and her skin soft and white: she has good-nature, and this stands
in the place of education. Her figure is not very neat, and, though she inclines to be fat, you will not find her too full, if you don't get her with child.
Bet. Brownrigg, Coventry-Street.
Easy, chatty, and not without good qualities. Her eyes are remarkably soft, and languishing, but her mouth rather too wide, which, as she has but a bad set of teeth, is much in her disfavour. She was defiled by a player of the New House, and went for sometime by his name; but afterwards got in with an old half-pay Captain, with whom she lived some time; and he dying, left her his name, and a small legacy in the stocks. She set up for a widow, but was soon forced, either through necessity or inclination, to
come upon the common again. She is as mercenary as an old usurer.
Polly Barnes, Piazza, Covent-Garden.
An honest waiter, well known in the purlieus of the garden, has given this kind girl leave to go by the name of Barnes. She has an oval face, dark hair, is neither fat nor lean, and is the best humoured wench in the world, when dead sure of her man and her money.
Betsy Bentinck, alias B—t—y, alias Strickland, Bucklersbury.
This woman is tall and well made; and may be justly termed a fine figure. Her legs are none of the best, for which reason her cloaths are made remarkably long. She is reported to have very little sensation, and that the largest
man in England may draw her on like a jack-boot. Her skin is bad, her mouth wide, and her eyes rather heavy then languishing. She can put on a pleasing countenance when she pleases, which is but seldom. She was once in Jamaica, in the service of a noble ad—l's lady, against whom she appeared as a witness in a remarkable case of adultery, in which her master was plantiff, and a captain of a man of war defendant. The latter she charges with having debauched her. An attorney's clerk in F-rn-l's inn kept her for some time, upon the slender diet of bread, cheese, and small beer; but has lately exchanged him for a fat grocer in the city, who gives her a scanty pittance, which she increases by slily plying near the Change, Leadenhall-Street,
and some bye places, as a rose never blown on.
Betsy Berry, St. James's-street.
Bet is the daughter of a Farmer, and was bred up at North Allerton, in Yorkshire. She fell a prey to an exciseman of that town, who recommended her to his patron's valet de chambre. By him she was brought to London, set up near the court, by way of taking in men of quality, in which she failed, and is contented with loving a dumb waiter upon Drury-Lane stage. She is thin, with auburn hair, and not the worst of eyes. She writes a good hand, and has read a little, by which means she can impose herself upon half mankind.
Polly Blake, Dartmouth-street.
This woman is low in stature, with a good skin, dark hair and eyes, and a pretty face. She was born and bred in Whitechaple, first kept by a young wine-merchant, who debauched her, and afterwards by a German puack doctor. She has a good deal of cunning about her, and affects to be very fond of a man, whose breeches are well-lined; but if you happen to inhale the perfume of her lips, it will put you in mind of a French cheese.
Pol. Blakeney, Bow-street.
Very low, very noisy, and puts on a little too much red. She is not pretty, nor yet disagreeable when she holds her tongue. She is a native of the ancient kingdom of Connaught, and took up her present name, out of re-
respect spect to the brave lord who defended fort St. Philip.
Bet. Bewley, Parliament-Street.
Perhaps this lady should rather be ranked among the priestesses, than the votaries of Venus, if we consider her years, her size, and her beauty. She is pretty fat, tall and big-boned: her countenance has no great meaning, and another set of teeth would be of service to her face. It is said Ireland boasts the birth of this beauty; she is good humoured, and a very pleasant rattle. She has reigned a good while as a companion to the most distinguished women of amorous reputation; at present, she seconds the pleasantry of Lucy C-per's table, whom it were more difficult to separate than light
and darkness. She often appears at Roberts's and Hughes's.
Fanny Brown, Covent-Garden.
This lady is well known in Cork, where she was never dunn'd by her shoe-maker, disdaining, in her early days, to use any other cloathing for her fine foot, than liberal nature's gift: however, since her arrival in England, she has altered her mind, and condescended to the aid which art has offered to her beauty. This her mantua-maker and shoe-maker are fully sensible of, and have been constant in attending upon her. Her hair is a very light brown, her features regular and striking, and skin white, her shape well-proportioned, her size tall, and plump. Were she cast in marble, she would have passed upon the virtuosi
for a very complete Venus; but Nature has given her a soul intended for some meaner habitation; and Fortune forgot her education, for indeed she had none.
Kitty B-ckley, Poland-street.
This lady has been at the service of every man that had a mind to her, from her thirteenth year. Her mamma was a midwife in Ireland, from which country Miss B-ckley came. No woman has ever been more hackney'd, from the lord to the porter; Turks, Jews, Papists; every sect, and every country have tasted her sweet body. She is really an elegant figure, and has a charming sweetness in her countenance; but she is as wicked as a devil, and as extravagant as Cleopatra. She is generally three times a year
in the bailiffs hands, but still makes a figure. She is now descending into the vale of years, being at least five and thirty; and is reported to have ruined twenty keepers.
Kitty Blaney, near Russel-Street, Covent-Garden.
This daughter of pleasure is a tall strapping woman, pitted with the smallpox, dresses very genteel; but her behaviour in company is very noisy and impudent. If swearing and talking bawdy are recommendations, she is quite mistress of those qualifications, besides drinking her three bottles with any wench in the kingdom. Her chief trade is among the inferior officers in the India company's service.
Sally Brown, Charing-Cross.
This fair one, or rather brown one, is tall and scraggy; her features are large, and but indifferent, particularly her nose, which terminates in a sharpness, which the skilful say indicates great shrillness of pipe, and activity of passion. This disposition has been improved, perhaps, by the igneous particles arising from the kitchen fires of a noted English house of entertainment at Rotterdam, where she obliged the noted Moll Edwards with attending as a scullion. This occupation seems also to have affected her hand which is enormously large and coarse; and her foot, which is broad and splayed.
Nancy Brown, Charing-Cross.
Is the daughter, by her own account, of a merchant either in Cork or Dublin. She is but short, and not well shaped; her features are not disagreeable; her hair is lightish: she has a great deal of bill-wit, and, under a simple veil, covers a great deal of cunning. We saw her only once, when she was brought before a certain justice as a creature found in a house of indecent character. She defended herself well, and the justice undertook to befriend her; though we cannot pretend to say, he had an Eye to her beauty.
Lucy Bradley, Silver-Street, Cheapside.
A low, square built lass, with a good complexion, void of art; her face is sound, and her features re-
regular; gular; her hair is dark, and her eyes hazle. She lived as a nursery maid with a foreign practitioner of physic, near Soho, who took first possession of her, not without some force. She gets up small linnen, and works well with her needle; has some good sense, and honest principles. Necessity first compelled her to see company, and she seems conscious of its not being right.
Polly Burradon, Parliament-Street.
A tall well-made Irish woman, with light brown hair, rather the worse for having had many children. It is said, she has generally a rich citizen, or a foolish country squire, tied to her girdle.
C
Cherry Poll, Covent-Garden.
ANY one that has been at Bob Derry's, that house of remarkable civil reception, must be too well acquainted with the celebrated Cherry Poll, to need a particular description. How she came by the name is variously reported; but her red cheeks, her red lips, and her red something else, have all helped to the dubbing of her. She is an agreeable girl, but so frolicksome and noisy, that she often forces the worthy Bob to cry out, What a blasted house is here!
Polly C—le, Duke's-Court, Covent-Garden.
This lady has reigned a long time, and is, from her easy manners and
disposition, prized by all that know her. She is tall and well-made, neither thin nor plump; her eyes are blue, armed with much tenderness, and there is something very pleasing in her smile. When dressed, she is a tempting figure; but divested of ornament, and dispossessed of her stays, her firmness vanishes, and her breasts are particularly lank and flabby. She lived a long time with Mr. L— the singer, and changed him for M—s the singer, being fond of music, with whom she lived till very lately. She is a good œconomist, and, when particularly connected, is said to be very faithful.
Sally C-mmins, Charles-street, Westminster.
A bluish eyed comely lass, but too much indebted to art for her complexion. She talks French, and sings agreeably, and in her cups is very religious, when you find her to be a most bigotted papist. She descended of a genteel family in Wiltshire, and was bred up in a nunnery in France. How she came among the sisters of carnality, no body knows. She positively denies her having been debauched by a friar.
Lucy Comm-rford, Oxford-market.
A light well-made strapping girl, but too much of the Brobidignagran about her, being full five foot ten inches high. She seldom goes to a tavern, but plies about the streets, from whence she