From Anon, The Genuine History of Mrs. Sarah Pridden, usually called Sally Salisbury, and her Gallants (1723), and de Saussure, A Foreign View of England
Pridden, who called herself Sally Salisbury after the name of one of her lovers, was born into poverty in 1692, and spent her childhood working on the streets of St Giles, the poorest area of London. At different seasons she shelled ‘beans and peas, cried nose-gays and newspapers, peeled walnuts, made matches, turned bunter [whore] etc., well knowing that a wagging hand always gets a penny’. At the age of fourteen (although the anonymous biography says seventeen), she had already been abandoned by her first lover, the notorious Colonel Charteris (see ‘Sexual Offenders’). Salisbury went on to become a highly paid courtesan at the most expensive and exclusive bordello in London. It belonged to Mother Wisebourne who was noted for keeping a chaplain in her establishment who read prayers to her ‘girls’ twice daily. Salisbury’s lovers included two Secretaries of State. Her demise came about when, as de Saussure describes, she stabbed one of her admirers in a fit of rage (he had complimented her sister in front of her); although he did not die, and pleaded vehemently for her release, she was convicted of assault, and sentenced to a year’s imprisonment. She died while still at Newgate of ‘brain fever’ – probably syphilis – in 1723. Her unhappy life served as the model for Hogarth’s Harlot and John Cleland’s Fanny Hill.
But there was a different person, upon whom Mrs Sally had cast her eyes and heart; he was a Collonel1 under his grace the late D. of Marlborough, whose name I need not repeat after that of Mrs Salisbury: his air was lively and pleasant, his shape compleat, tho’ his face not handsome; he had several times took occasion to speak soft things to Sally, but thought her too unripe a beauty to have an intrigue with, having others at his devotion of fuller and superior charms. After one of those, he posted to the Bath, his equipage of grandeur glistering about him; not dreaming that he was carrying little Sally’s heart away with him. But she soon got intelligence whither he was gone; and soon she followed him; but tho’ she frequently saw him, and met him in publick places, she was scarce in appearance well enough to hope for his regard or observance; so that this prov’d a greater uneasiness to her, than if she had been distant from him; for she every day saw him surrounded with the smiles and graces of finer women, whom she thought infinitely happy in the circle of his observation. However she ne’er desponded; and as Fortune favours the bold, it favour’d her.
All the blooming flower of beauty was Sally now adorn’d with, and her blood beat love thro’ her eager veins; when the sprightliness of her nature was transported with the less sprightly voices of drums and trumpets: but when she found that they beat to strife and war, not that of the arms, but of the feet; and that the cleverest lasses were to dance for a smock; she thought this a lively opportunity, to change the dull and heavy scene before her, into gaiety observance and conversation; accordingly she cloth’d her self in her softest airs, and pluck’d up all her charms; resolving to appear brilliant in the eyes of those gallant men that would attend that match of dancing: several competitors appear’d upon the stage, who delighted, tho’ faintly, the eyes of the gentlemen gazers; while the smock, the noble object of their efforts was expanded full in view, adorn’d with ribbons, and enrich’d with the finest lace. But immediatly upon Sally’s entering the list’s in a party-colour’d petticoat, and lovely shift, the spectators were ravished with the sweet assurance of her air, and the symmetrical proportion of her limbs; her leg and foot having powers to excite, like the face and voice of others. When the rivals disputed who should dance first, she refus’d not, like the rest; but pertly told them she’d dance first and last. Whereupon, the beau monde gave her a universal clap, and she began the wandering contest, like a midnight unctuous fire, bright, but uncertain, that leads uncautious men into bogs and watry places.
No sooner had her heels perform’d their weary task, but applauding sounds repeatedly shook the buildings. The other rivals seeing the hearts of the judges in their looks, retir’d from the stage, leaving Miss Sally sole heiress of the praise and linnen. For the abovenam’d Collonel, having his former kind sentiments of Sally now almost ripen’d into love, had made so strong a party in her favour among the gentlemen that ’twas impossible to oppose them.
By this means, the dancing was taken from the sight of several, who would willingly have seen it longer; but by the same means, a dancing was left in the breasts of some, who would willingly have had it absent: for as Sally had carry’d off the holland prize, so her self, a softer prize, was carry’d off by the Collonel and two other gentlemen: they engros’d her to themselves, even smock and all, leaving a hundred hearts to sigh; and to hold her theirs but in mocking dreams and delusive visions.
But this glitter of a sunshine was not long without its intercepting clouds; for certain ladies, I know not who, took occasion to lessen Sally, and to represent her as a worthless girl, a strouling vagabond, etc. So that, to continue the opinion those ladies had of him, he diminished that he had entertain’d of Sally. So that she grew uneasy at that perplexing place; where one goes to win new hearts, another to lose her own; whither one lady repairs for her health, which dear health makes many hundreds sick; while Damons and Strephons1 appear, or to get spouses, or be freed from those they have at home.
When the heroine of our history arrived at London, after two or three days, she showed her self to her mother who guessing what tricks she had been playing with her bodily powers, striped her of all the presents, etc. that adorn’d her features; thinking thereby to prevent her running again into the same gay vices: tho’ the report of the ill-natured town, is, that her mother did it for the profit of her apparel, that she might partake of the wages of sin, which is wholly false and fictitious: nor is it well in her three sisters, to relate such stories, but to look at home, and consider whither their own conduct is wholly unblemish’d. Some there are, who are of opinion, that to be a woman of pleasure is to be a giant of mischief; and in the frequency of her gay extravagances, I am assured by those who know, that Sally does no way come up to her own relations.
But the unfortunate young lady, being thus stript of her peacock-feathers, the gaiety of her soul disappear’d with that of her cloaths; she look’d to her self, like a pick’d goose, sent naked to shew it self upon a Lincolnshire common. This was the more grievous to her, as she was just in the sweet blossom of youth (being seventeen years of age) and as her blood had so lately learn’d to glide, with love and victory.
Now it was, that being unable to exist a single hour out of the bustle of people, and the sight of the active world, she bethought her of an employment, that was easy to attain to, yet seem’d to her polite: accordingly, she got a budget full of plays, pamphlets and other papers, and stood to dispose of them, or her self, at the corner of Pope’s-head Alley in Cornhill, and at the corner of another alley opposite to the Royal-Exchange: she had not long been scituated on that advantageous ground, before she became the talk of all the apprentices and young lads of those parts; but seeming like a very girl, and being but mean in apparel, she escaped the notice of gentlemen. I remember still, as I went that way to school, I was told there was the beautifullest wench, who sold papers about Cornhill, that ever appear’d on a sunny day; and that several boys had given her half a crown, for an hour of her love; that being her usual price: and indeed she appear’d to the eye, to be then, compar’d with what she is now, like the soft beauty of the morning blush of light, compar’d with the full heat of the mid-day sun; but the beauty of conversation, which is the only valuable beauty, was at that time greatly inferiour to her present sharpened wit.
Some short time after this, she met with a wealthy Dutchman, who took her and wholly new rig’d her; promising her to make her his wife, if she could love him, and no other; which she assured him of for several days; and had the management of a good part of his gold, about 20 pounds of which she made over to her self, and carried it to a place of security. This ancient kisser believ’d, from the mean appearance that he found her in, that she had never tasted of the pleasures of sense, and carressed her as an untouch’d innocent. But one day, as he kiss’d her unseasonably, and ask’d her a hundred times if she could love him, and him alone, she unluckily cry’d, D— you, and your broken tongue, can I love rotten teeth and stinking fifty? And so flew off his knee. The master of a ship, finding he had caught a tartar by the tail,1 look’d with as much care, as if the main-mast had crack’d in the mid way, between Gravenhague2 and Gravesend.
But however, the jilting beauty, after this broad-side, got safe away, with all her rigging and new tackling, and enough of wealth about her. Her impatient aim, was to find out, and engage the Collonel we mentioned before: and this she so successfully did, I know not by what means, that he took her and kept her a considerable time; expressing a great tenderness and affection for her; and she, having now her charms more full at her command, studied to employ them to the best advantage. It is unlucky, that when people strive to please the most, they are commonly then, the most unable to do it. So wandering was his mind, so accustom’d to change, that with all her insinuations she could not fix him: she showed him she was fortunate, by winning from him, four times, all his money; she shewed him she was lik’d by others, by puting him once upon defending her with his sword, in a famous skirmish that happen’d in Southampton Buildings, where his adversary, being in liquor, unfortunately lost the use of one of his arms, and died about four years afterwards: but he had (as it is reported) after that time, very frequently satisfaction of Sally, in a house of pleasure, for the damage sustain’d.
Being dismist from the Collonel’s arms and keeping, she went and took a lodging at a distiller’s in New-street, by St Martin’s Lane; and there, (if they tell true) she made her self extreamly common and generally had gally-pots1 and phial to adorn her chamber window: from whence we may gather, she did not proceed so well fledg’d from the Collonel’s house as from the sea-man’s.
After some continuance here, a violent quarrel happen’d, insomuch, that Mrs Salisbury affirm’d that she had been wrong’d; and her landlady asserted, that she it was that had been so used; and having many in the house of her side, Mrs SALLY was decently conveyed to the house of Justice S—’s, and oath being there made, that she had given them the carriage of certain goods, and that she was a person of light behaviour etc. she was as decently conveyed thence to confinement, but immediately got bail, to prevent her becoming the fair captive, and as soon as she could went to her adversaries, and put her hand pretty deep into her purse, to prevent her holding it up at Hicks’s-Hall.
At the time of this fatal accident, her relations say, that she was frequently invited to go home and live with her friends; but that, instead of it, she took up the name of Salisbury, which name she dearly lov’d; giving her parents (as they say) but ill language, and telling them, she was not sprung from their scoundrel impotent bodies, but from the illustrious loins of a nobleman, who sent her to them for milk and pancakes. Tho’ to compose the foregoing breaches, she had wholly exhausted her pocket, and was also again grown mean in habit; such are the vicissitudes of fortune!
Some time ago a courtesan, of the name of Sally Salsbury [sic], famed for her rare and wonderful beauty, her wit and fun, became the fashion in London, and was favoured by distinguished personages. One night, at a wine supper, one of her admirers having displeased her by some uncomplimentary speech, she seized a knife and plunged it into his body. Next morning she was conveyed a prisoner to Newgate. You will suppose her lovers abandoned her in her distress. They did no such thing, but crowded into the prison, presenting her with every comfort and luxury possible. As soon as the wounded man1 – who, by the way, belongs to one of the best-known English families – was sufficiently recovered, he asked for her discharge, but Sally Salsbury died of brain fever, brought on by debauch, before she was able to leave the prison.
You will, no doubt, be surprised to hear of so much corruption, but many causes contribute to this. The liberty and leniency of the government, the impunity of vice, the by no means considerable education which the young men receive and the easy and frequent temptations of a big town are the sources of the extraordinary licentiousness that reigns openly in London. I do not mean to say that it is a general vice. God forbid! I should be most unjust towards a number of well-conducted, reserved and respectable persons, whom the public, recognising their merits, term ‘civil and sober gentlemen’.