Mary Blewit , alias Dickenson, alias Bowler proceedingsdefend This name instance is in set 344. , was indicted for privately stealing the Goods of Edward Hartrey proceedingsvictim , June 11 .

Edward Hartrey < no role > thus depos'd. On Saturday Morning last between 12 and 1, the Prisoner pick'd me up just as I came out of a Coach in Fleet-Street, and away she carry'd me down Shoe-Lane, to a House in Kings-Head Court . The Bawd's Name that kept it was Alice Gale < no role > , we went up Stairs together. I staid with her about a Quarter of an Hour, but being a little Fuddled, I can't say that we did any Thing to speak of but however she thought fit to examine my Breeches, and I finding her Hand near my Pocket; I began to suspect her, and presently mist my Goods. I tax'd her with robbing me, but she deny'd it, and up came her Bullies, and maul'd me, and beat me, and kick'd me down Stairs, and broke my Nose, and then turn'd me out of Doors, and hussel'd me up and down among the dark Alleys, that I might not find the House again, and so they left me in a most lamentable Pickle. I gave notice to several Pawn-brokers to step my Goods, by which Means I afterwards recover'd them. On Sunday Morning (which was the Day after I was robb'd) I took the Prisoner at her Lodging up 2 pair of Stairs, in the late House of the late Jonathan Wild < no role > . She was committed to the Compter, and in the Afternoon she sent me Word I should have what I had left, by 4 o'Clock, if I'd stop the Prosecution. I waited till that Time, and then she put me off till the next Day, and so from one Time to another, till I was quite tired.

John Sylvester < no role > the Watchman thus depos'd. The Prosecutor you must know is one of my Masters, he's a Barber by Trade, and lives in Bale Court, Fleet-Street. Now its always my way to take care of my Masters, and see them safe home, when ever I meet any of them as I go my Rounds: and so it fell out between 12 and 1 a Saturday Morning, that I see's my Master Hartrey come out of a Coach very much fuddled, and who should be up upon, but this very Gentlewoman at the Bar, Madam Blewit, or Dickenson, or Bowler, or what you please to call her, for she was Wife to them all Three at the same Time, and the two First of'em are now a hanging in Chains in St. George's-Fields. Whether he wanted a Whore, or she a Rogue, is neither here not there, but they presently laid fast hold of one another, and grew woundy loving. I found my Master was in Danger, and did all that I could to get him away. Hussy, says I, You Saucy Brimstone Toad you, what Business, have ye with my Master, let him go, or I'll call my Brother Watchman, and have ye to the Round-House directly, And, Ah Master! says I, my dear Master, come away from that Hang-in-Chains Bitch. - Yes I did call her Bitch, that I did, my Lord, and I can't deny it. - She'll certainly pick your Pocket, says I, or Serve you a worse Trick. - Come, come don't expose yourself, but all signify'd nothing, he swore she was a Girl for his Fancy, and he would go with her, and so they went together, but it had been better for him if he had taken his poor Watchman's Advice.

The Prisoner in her Defence, deny'd that she had ever seen the Prosecutor before he apprehended her, and then call'd several Witnesses, who depos'd that the Morning the Prosecutor was robb'd, he charged them with picking his Pocket, and sometimes he swore he could not tell who had done it. Guilty 10 d.

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