The above description of —the great Figg, by the prize-fighting swains Sole monarch acknowledged of Mary'bone plains— may sound somewhat tame by the side of the glowing account given of him by his gallant biographer, who asserts that "there was a majesty shone in his countenance, and blazed in his actions, beyond all I ever saw;" but it may, possibly, convey a more accurate notion of his personal appearance. " Jonathan raised his bludgeon, but controlled himself by a powerful effort. " "To make him forget the knock?" "Precisely. And mind he doesn't stir out of your sight, on any pretence whatever, till I call. Places, I found, were daily given away, And yet no friendly gazette mentioned Gay. What news. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated.
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