A History of the Cries of London - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Buy my young Chickens, or a Fowl, well-fed, And we'll not quarrel about the price; 'Tis thus I get my daily bread: As all the year round my Fowls are very nice.
_Green Peas, I say! Green Peas, I say, here, Hav'em at your own price--here! here!_
[Ill.u.s.tration: GREEN PEAS! BUY MY GREEN PEAS?]
Sixpence a peck, these Peas are sold, Fresh and green, and far from old; Green Marrows, it is quite clear, And as times go, cannot be dear.
_Hat Box! Cap Box! Boxes, all sizes; All good, and at very low prices._
[Ill.u.s.tration: HAT-BOX; CAP BOX.]
Hat or Cap Box! for ribbons or lace, When in a Box, keep in their place; And in a Box, your favourite bonnet Is safe from getting things thrown on it.
_Eels, fine Silver Eels! Dutch Eels!
They are all alive--Silver Eels!_
[Ill.u.s.tration: EELS; FINE DUTCH EELS.]
Eels, alive! fine Dutch eels, I cry, Mistress, to use you well I'm willing, Come step forth and buy-- Take four pounds for one s.h.i.+lling.
_Plumbs, ripe Plumbs! Big as your thumbs!
Plumbs! Plumbs! Big as your thumbs!_
[Ill.u.s.tration: PLUMBS; RIPE PLUMBS.]
Plumbs, for puddings or pies, This noisy woman bawls; Plumbs, for puddings or pies, In every street she calls.
_Buy a Purse; a long and a strong Purse!
A good leather or a strong mole-skin Purse!_
[Ill.u.s.tration: BUY A PURSE.]
Buy a Purse; a long and strong Purse, They'll suit the young--they suit the old!
To lose good money, what is worse?
Yet it's daily done for the want of a purse.
_Kettles to mend! any Pots to mend?
Daily I say as my way I wend._
[Ill.u.s.tration: KETTLES OR POTS TO MEND!]
Kettles to mend! any pots to mend!
You cannot do better to me than send; Think of the mess when the saucepans run, The fire put out, and the dinner not done.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE JOLLY TINKER.]
My daddy was a tinker's son, And I'm his boy, 'tis ten to one, Here's pots to mend! was still his cry, Here's pots to mend! aloud bawl I.
Have ye any tin pots, kettles or cans, Coppers to solder, or bra.s.s pans?
Of wives my dad had near a score, And I have twice as many more: My daddy was the lord--I don't know who-- With his:-- Tan ran tan, tan ran tan tan, For pot or can, oh! I'm your man.
Once I in my budget snug had got A barn-door capon, and what not, Here's pots to mend! I cried along-- Here's pots to mend! was my song.
At village wake--oh! curse his throat, The c.o.c.k crowed so loud a note, The folks in cl.u.s.ters flocked around, They seized my budget, in it found The c.o.c.k, a gammon, peas and beans, Besides a jolly tinker. Yes, a jolly tinker-- With his-- Tan ran tan, tan ran tan tan, For pot or can, oh! I'm your man.
Like dad, when I to quarters come, For want of cash the folks I hum, Here's kettles to mend: Bring me some beer!
The landlord cries, "You'll get none here!
You tink'ring dog, pay what you owe, Or out of doors you'll instant go,"
In rage I squeezed him 'gainst the door, And with his back rubb'd off the score.
At his expense we drown all strife For which I praise the landlord's wife-- With my Tan ran tan, tan ran tan tan, For pot or can, oh! I'm your man.
_Fine China Oranges, sweet as sugar!
They are very fine, and cheap, too, to-day._
[Ill.u.s.tration: FINE CHINA ORANGES.]
If friends permit, and money suits, The tempting purchase make; But, first, examine well the fruit, And then the change you take.
[Ill.u.s.tration: FINE RIPE ORANGES]
Here are Oranges, fine ripe Oranges, Of golden colour to the eye, And fragrant perfume they're dispensing, Sweeter than roses; come then and buy.
Flowers cannot give forth the fragrance That scents the air from my golden store, Fairest lady, none can excel them, Buy then my Oranges; buy, I implore.
Here are Oranges, fine ripe Oranges, Golden globes of nectar fine, Luscious juice the G.o.ds might envy, Richer far than the finest wine.
Flowers cannot give forth the fragrance That scents the air from my golden store, Fairest lady, none can excel them, Buy then my Oranges; buy, I implore.
ROUND FOR FOUR VOICES.
SIR. J. STEVENSON.
Come buy my cherries, beauteous la.s.ses; Fresh from the garden pluck'd by me; All on a summer's day, so gay, You hear the London Cries--"_Knives ground here by me_."
Fine apples and choice pears, Eat, boys, forget your cares; All on a summer's day, so gay, You hear the London Cries--"_Sweep, sweep, sweep_."
Fruit in abundance sold by me, Fruit in abundance here you see; All on a summer's day, so gay, You hear the London Cries--"_Parsnips, carrots, and choice beans_."
Whey, fine sweet whey, Come taste my whey; All on a summer's day, so gay, You hear the London Cries--"_Fine radish, fine lettuce, sold by me_."
PRIMROSES.
Come who'll buy my roses, Primroses, who'll buy?
They are sweet to the sense, they are fair to the eye; They are covered all o'er with diamond dew, Which Aurora's bright handmaids unsparingly threw On their beautiful heads: and I ask but of you-- _To buy, buy, buy, buy_.
