Street cries of the world

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.



There was a Old wife
 and she sold Pudding-pyes,
She went to the Mill
 and the dust blew into her eyes:
She has Hot Puddings
 and Cold Puddings to sell,
Where ever she goes
 you may follow her by the smell.

Betimes in the morning
 out of her bed she will pack,
And give you all warning
 with a loud thundering crack:
Then coughing and spitting,
 & Rubbing, & Scrubbing her thighs,
She hangs on her Cloaths
 and away to sell Pudding-pyes.

She calls up her Neighbors
 for to go and fuddle a Pot,
Because to go fasting
 O she likes it not;
Her Bub she doth tippe
 and then having cleared her eyes
She goes to the Oven
 to fetch her Pudding-pyes.

O Baker quoth she
 I prethy do not me cozen,
I am an Old wife
 tell fifteen to the dozen;
For by that means
 my profit doth fairly rise;
Or else I must never
 more cry Pudding-pyes.


At every Corner
 and in every street,
This Pudding-pye-woman
 be sure you oft shall meet;
With Basket on head
 and hand on her Butock she cryes,
Come here all away
 that will buy Hot Pudding-pyes.

She hath a long Nose
 and often the same doth drop,
A piece of Hot Pudding
 would make a dainty Sop,
Her Beetle-brow forehead
 hangs quite over her eyes,
She scarcely can see
 to sell her Pudding-pyes,

Her hands she doth wash
 but twice three times in a year,
The print of her fingers
 doth fair on her Puddings appear
She’s two yards about,
 which you I say is a pretty size,
For an Old wife
 that doth sell Hot Pudding-pyes.

In Winter you may
 behold her dragled Tail,
And lagging she goes
 along just like a Snail,
All sprinkled with mire
 a handful about her thighs,
You that have good stomachs
 come buy her Pudding-pyes.

At Noon and at Night
 this Firkin of stuff both wag,
Some money to take
 to put in her greasie bag:
I wish she would make me
 her Heir when ever she dyes,
Then I shall have money
 for all her Pudding-pyes.

Her Puddings are fat,
 in Summer they use to fry
With heat of the Sun,
 or else she hath told a lye:
But what she puts in them
 I swear I cannot devize,
Then buy and you’l try
 how you like her Pudding-pyes.

She had a young Daughter
 that takes after her Mother,
And will be as like her
 as one Pea’s like another;
If any young Man have
 a mind to such a Rare prize,
He shall have her Daughter
 and all her Pudding-pyes.

And thus you may see
 how I this Woman describe,
’Tis nothing to me
 I’m sure she’l give me no Bribe,
But I am content
 since that I have told no lyes,
Then farewel to those
 that do cry Hot Pudding-pyes.

London, Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, and J. Clark.