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Updated: May 6, 2025
Old London Bridge was soon passed, and old Billingsgate Market with its oyster-boats and Dutchmen, and the White Tower and Traitor's Gate, and we were in among the tiers of shipping.
He might have been sixty years of age, but looked much older, and behaved like a well-born person, though, superficially judged, he might have lived in Billingsgate. "A good title for a fiction," I said encouragingly. "I never penned a line of fiction in my life," exclaimed my visitor sternly.
We ran on a level keel, and there was no movement but the tremor of the engines. We should catch the tide at the Shipwash, and go up on it to Billingsgate and be home by midnight. How foolish it is to portion your future, at sea!
The old men, in especial, got quite profane, and screamed excited billingsgate. Finally they all stopped at once, dropped on all fours, and loped away, their ridiculous long tails curved in a half arc. Then for the first time I noticed that, under cover of the insults, the women and children had silently retired.
Of course she said, "Yes." He was converted that night, found work, and is now employed in the Gas Works, Old Kent Road. Jimmy is a soldier in the Boro' Slum! Was starving when he got converted through being out of work. Through joining the Army, he was turned out of his home. He found work, and now owns a coffee-stall in Billingsgate Market, and is doing well. Sergeant R. Of Marylebone Slum.
Swear, without Billingsgate, as you'll allays love, honor an' obey your lovin' wife." Bart, still being shaken, gasped out the words, and then gave his arm to the lady who was to rule his life. Deborah kissed him in a loud, hearty way, and led him in triumph to the cottage. Here Mrs. Purr had prepared a simple meal, and the health of the happy pair was proposed by Paul. Mrs.
There was a click and Roy Heath's soft southern drawl came floating over the miles of wire. There was a stream of invective. Jimmy's past, present and future were depicted in pointed billingsgate, all done in good English. Roy had planned a pleasant afternoon and evening with a lady who had just finished a triumphant musical comedy engagement.
Dick had little to lose by a row, whereas the Baronet would be injured. The Baronet therefore declined to fill in the epithet which he had omitted. He knew from former experience what Dick would and what he would not bear. "I don't choose to descend to Billingsgate," said Sir Francis. "I have my own ideas as to your conduct."
That was what the guide asked when we were looking up at the bronze horses on the Arch of Peace. It meant, do you wish to go up there? I give it as a specimen of guide-English. These are the people that make life a burthen to the tourist. Their tongues are never still. They talk forever and forever, and that is the kind of billingsgate they use. Inspiration itself could hardly comprehend them.
How savage the satire was how fierce the assault what garbage hurled at opponents what foul blows were hit what language of Billingsgate flung! Fancy a party in a country-house now looking over Woodward's facetiae or some of the Gilray comicalities, or the slatternly Saturnalia of Rowlandson! Whilst we live we must laugh, and have folks to make us laugh.
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