Street cries were once a popular subject of songs and literature in Britain, continental Europe and elsewhere. Each month from 2018 onwards I'll be scanning and transcribing publications to build this collection.
− British Isles pre-19th century
Pepys Collection: The Cries of London c. 1620
The Manner of Crying Things in London 1640
An Act of Common Councell 1643
The Old Pudding-pye Woman set forth in her colours, &c. c. 1675
Jovial Tom of all Trads, or, The Various Cries of London-City 1687
The Cryes of the City of London Drawne after the Life 1688
Verses made for Women who cry Apples, etc. 1746
Kirk's London Cries playing cards c. 1754
Twelve London Cries done from the Life 1760
Cries of London, as they are daily exhibited in the Streets 1796
MY name is Tom of all Trades,
I range the Land about,
And have good store of trading,
let who’s will go without:
And a trading I will go,
I’le go, I’le go,
And a trading I will go.
I am a Chimny-Sweeper,
as black as any Cole,
I call up Maids a mornings,
to sweep their smoaky hole:
And a trading, &c.
Sometimes I am a Tinker,
and on my Pans I rap,
Sometimes I am a Cooper,
to stop the Water gap,
And a trading, &c.
I am a Coster-Monger,
and through the street I cry,
My curious fruit without dispute,
will make you Apple-pye:
And a trading I will go.
will go, will go,
And a trading I will go.
I am a brave Shoo-maker,
and one of Crispins crew,
And has within my Budget,
the bones of old Sir Hugh:
And a trading, &c.
I sell both Tape and Fillet,
with Codpiss, points, and pins,
With ends of Gold and silver,
maids sell your Coney-skins,
And a trading, &c.
Here’s dainty Hamp-Shire Honey,
for why the case is thus,
I fain would take some money,
to fill my empty purse:
And a trading, &c.
Sometimes I am a Taylor,
a calling much in use,
Well furnished with Cabbidge,
besides a roasted Goose:
And a trading, &c.
Sometimes I am a Broom-man
old shooes, or boots, or hats,
But in the Winter Season,
I’le furnish you with Sprats:
And a trading, &c.
Old Brass I am for buying,
when profit I can find,
Sometimes I rome still crying,
your knives and Sheers to grind,
And a trading, &c.
Sometimes I am a Mountebank,
and make a rebel rout,
With plaisters for your Corns Sir,
and Pills to cure the gout:
And a trading, &c.
Sometimes I am a Sharper,
when other trading falls,
And then again a Barber,
see hear my washing-Balls,
And a trading, &c.
There’s no one can be riper,
then I for these affairs,
Sometimes I am a Piper,
I play before the Bears:
And a trading, &c.
But yet for all those callings,
I am a Miller born,
And out of e’ry Bushel,
I pinch a peck of Corn,
And a trading, &c.
Farewel tis time in reason,
to bid you all adieu,
I’le find another season,
to come and visit you:
And a trading I will go,
I’le go, I’le go,
And a trading I will go.
FINIS.
Printed for J. Back, at the Blackboy on London-Bridge.