Appended are the words to many of the foregoing Cries.
Ventured across the main behold, "Buy Baskets," solemn Face, He sells for Lust of Naughty Gold, Which is a Common Case.
(_Peaseholme Green Postern_) Hark! who is this, the Tinker Bold, To mend or spoil you Kettle, Whose wife, I'm certain is a Scold, Made up of base metal.
Buy my Clocks and Weather Glasses! Buy Shirt Hand Buttons! (_Walmgate Bar_)
"If I'd as much money as I could tell; I never would cry young lambs to sell." (_Thursday Market_)
"Buy my Anchovies. Buy my nice Anchovies."
With drawling tone, Brush under arm, And Bag slung o'er his shoulder, Behold the Sweep, the Streets alarm, With Stentor's voice and louder.
Hot Muffins and Crumpets too, For Breakfast and for Tea; I've only a very few left, In Basket as you may see.
Buy Banbury Cakes! By fortune's frown, You see this needy man, Along the street and up and down Is selling all he can.
Behold Poor James at York again, His Cockles all alive, O! Alive, Alive, he cries amain, Come buy that he may thrive, O!
"Sixpence a Score Oysters." (_Ouse Bridge_)
"Buy my Capers. Buy my nice Capers, Capers."
"Buy my Windmills, a halfpenny-a-piece." (_Monk Bar_)
"Come buy a true Calendar." (_Castle Gates_)
The Cries of York is distinctly different from The Cries of London issued by Kendrew though the same set of Cuts are utilized.
London Street Cries have always had a fascination peculiarly their own. Madame Vestris used to bring down the house with "Cherry Ripe," and where are happier efforts of the favourite home Artists than "London Cries" by A. Morland, Wheatley, Stodhard, and others, which are so eagerly sought after by connoiseurs? The pretty plaintive Cries too, would we had the 'music' to them, so familiar in the streets in those charming old English days.
A most interesting and quaint old relic is the one from which annexed impression is given, from Dyche's Spelling Book: an exceedingly clean, choice and crisp copy of this book, in the original sheep covers,--a veritable "old shopkeeper," which for nearly a century had escaped its intended destiny in Rusher's varied stores, at length found a resting place in Sir Thomas Bodley's venerable receptacle for bibliographical treasures in the Bodelian, Oxford. The present example--a portion of which was broken away many years ago,--is probably the sole surviving one of the quaint series of cuts, doubtless admired by our great-grand-parents over 100 years ago.