FOOTNOTES: [A] At the hospital of Saint Giles for Lazars, the prisoners conveyed from the City of London towards Tyburn, there to be executed for treasons, felonies, or other trespasses, were presented with a Bowl of Ale, thereof to drink, as their last refreshing in this life. The likeness was ridiculous. Over the gateway towards Snow Hill, were two strong wards, called the Castle and the Red Room. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. "You've charged with assisting your comrade, Jack Sheppard, to purloin certain articles of value from a jewel-case belonging to Lady Trafford. " The Wastrel advanced. ” “What do you want?” he asked, bluntly.
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