Old London Street Cries and the Cries of To-day: With Heaps of Quaint Cuts Including Hand-coloured Frontispiece

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Published for the Old London Street Company, 1887 - 137 strán (strany)
 

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Strana 46 - If the man who turnips cries, Cry not when his father dies, 'Tis a proof that he had rather Have a turnip than his father.
Strana 7 - One ofred me velvet, sylke, and lawne, An other he taketh me by the hande, " Here is Parys thred, the fynest in the land ;" I never was used to such thyngs indede, And wantyng mony I myght not spede.
Strana 18 - Plot and Passion. *»* The Plays may also be had separately, at is. each. Crown 410, half-Roxburghe, 12s. 6d. Vagabondiana ; or, Anecdotes of Mendicant Wanderers through the Streets of London ; with Portraits of the most Remarkable, drawn from the Life by JOHN THOMAS SMITH, late Keeper of the Prints in the British Museum. With Introduction by FRANCIS DOUCE, and Descriptive Text. With the Woodcuts and the 32 Plates, from the original Coppers.
Strana 30 - And industry itself submit to death. The cracking crystal yields ; she sinks, she dies; Her head, chopt off, from her lost shoulders flies : ?» Pippins she cry'd, but death her voice confounds, And pip,-pip,-pip, along the ice resounds.
Strana 36 - Of famous London town. Here's pennyroyal and marygolds. Come buy my nettle-tops. Here's water-cresses and scurvy-grass. Come buy my sage of virtue, ho ! Come buy my wormwood and mugwort. Here's all fine herbs of every sort. Here's southernwood, that's very good, Dandelion and houseleek. Here's dragon's-tongue and wood-sorrel. With bear's-foot and horehound, Let none despise the merry, merry cries Of famous London town.
Strana 7 - Then I hyed me into Est-Chepe ; One cryes rybbs of befe, and many a pye : Pewter pottes they clattered on a heape There was harpe, pype, and mynstralsye. 'Yea, by cock! nay, by cock!
Strana 7 - One cryde makerell, ryster grene, an other gan greete ; On bad me by a hood to cover my head, But for want of mony I myght not be sped. Then I hyed me into Est-Chepe ; One cryes rybbs of befe, and many a pye ; Pewter pottes they clattered on a heape; There was harpe, pype, and mynstrelsye.
Strana 30 - Doll ev'ry day had walk'd these treach'rous roads; Her neck grew warpt beneath autumnal loads Of various fruit; she now a basket bore, That head, alas! shall basket bear no more. Each booth she frequent past, in quest of gain, And boys with pleasure heard her shrilling strain. Ah Doll! all mortals must resign their breath, And industry it self submit to death! The cracking crystal yields, she sinks, she dyes, Her head, chopt off, from her lost shoulders flies; Pippins she cry'd, but death her voice...
Strana 30 - Where porters hogsheads roll from carts aslope, Or brewers down steep cellars stretch the rope, Where counted billets are by carmen tost Stay thy rash step, and walk without the post. What though the gath'ring mire thy feet besmear, The voice of industry is always near. Hark! the boy calls thee to his destin'd stand, And the shoe shines beneath his oily hand.

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