Orlando Gibbons, “The Cries of London”

 

 

 

Orlando Gibbons, “The Cries of London”

 

 

 

 

 

“The Cries of London” is a kind of burlesque madrigal composed by Orlando Gibbons (1583 –1625).

 

God give you good morrow, my masters, past three o’clock and a fair morning.
New mussels, new lilywhite mussels.
New cockles, new great cockles,
New great sprats, new.
New great lampreys,
New great smelts, new.
New fresh herrings,
New haddock, new,
New thornback, new.
Hot apple pies, hot.
Hot pippin pies hot.
Fine pomegranates, fine.
Hot mutton pies, hot.
Buy a rope.
Ha’ ye any old bellows or trays to mend?
Rosemary and bays quick and gentle,
Ripe chestnuts, ripe.
Buy a cover for a closestool.
Ripe walnuts, ripe.
Ripe small nuts, ripe.
White cabbage, white young cabbage white.
White turnips, white young turnips, white.
White parsnips, white young parsnips, white.
White lettuce, white young lettuce white.
But any ink, will you buy any ink, very fine writing ink, will you buy any ink?
Ha’ ye any rats or mice to kill?
I have ripe peascods, ripe.
Oysters, oysters, oysters, threepence a peck at Bridewell dock, new Wallfleet oysters.
O yes! If any man or woman can tell any tidings of a grey mare with a long mane and a short tail;
she halts down right before, and is stark lame behind; and was lost the thirtieth day of February.
He that can tell any tidings of her, let him come to the Crier, and he shall have well for his hire.
Will you buy any fine tobacco?
Ripe damsons, fine ripe damsons
Hard garlic, hard,
Will you buy any aquavitae, mistress?
Buy a barrel of Samphire.
What is’t you lack? Fine wrought shirts or smocks?
Perfum’d waistcoats, fine bone lace or edgings, sweet gloves, silk garters, very fine silk garters, fine combs or glasses.
Or a poking stick with a silver handle.
Old doublets, old doublets, old doublets, old doublets, old doublets, ha’ ye any old doublets?
Ha’ ye any corns on your feet or toes?
Fine potatoes, fine.
Will you buy any starch or clear complexion, mistress?
Poor naked Bedlam, Tom’s acold, a small cut of thy bacon or a piece of thy sow’s side, good Bess, God Almighty bless thy wits.
Dame, dame, give me an egg for the worship of Good Friday, if your hens will not lay your cock must obey, with three golden staves on London bridge,
Quick periwinkles, quick, quick, quick.
Will you buy any scurvy grass?
Buy a new almanack.
Will you buy a brush, will you have any small coal?
Buy a fine washing ball.
Good, gracious people, for the Lord’s sake pity the poor women;
we lie cold and comfortless night and day on the bare boards in the dark dungeon in great misery.
Hot oatcakes, hot.
Dame, dame, give me an egg for the worship of Good Friday, if your hens will not lay your cock must obey, with three golden staves on London bridge,
And so we make an end.

Will you go with a pair of oars?
Will you go with me, sir?
I am Sir John Chimney’s man.
A good sausage, a good, and it be roasted,
go round about the capon, go round.
I am your first man, sir!
Hot puddings, hot.
New oysters, new, new plaice, new,
Will ye buy any milk or frumenty?
O yes! If any man or woman can tell any tidings of a young wench of four and forty years old?
Let him bring her to the Crier, he shall have her for his hire.
New mackrel, new.
Ha’ ye work for a tinker?
a tinker.
Old boots, old shoes, pouchrings for broom.
Will ye buy a mat for a bed?
Ha’ ye any kitchen stuff, maids?
Ha’ ye any work for a cooper?
What ends have you of gold or silver?
Ripe strawberries, ripe.
Hot spic’d cakes hot.
I ha’ ripe cowcumbers, I ha’ ripe.
Salt, salt, salt, to barge to, hard onions, hard.
Rosasolis fine.
Fresh cheese and cream.
What coneyskins have ye, maids?
Salt, salt, to barge to.
Will you buy my dish of eels?
Will you buy any Aquavitae, mistress?
Cherry ripe, apples fine, medlars fine.
Al’ a black, al’ a black, pips fine.
Will ye buy any straw?
New fresh herring at Billingsgate, four a penny, five to many
White radish, white young radish, white radish, white young radish, white.
Hot pudding pies, hot.
Bread and meat for the poor pris’ners of the Marshalsea,
for Christ Jesus’ sake, bread and meat.
Have ye any wood to cleave?
soop, chimney soop, soop, chimney soop, soop, chimney soop, misteress,
with a soop derry derry derry soop;
From the bottom to the top, soop, chimney, soop.
Then shall no soot fall in your porridge pot, with a soop derry derry derry soop.
Fine Seville oranges, fine lemons,
Twelve o’clock, look well to your lock, your fire, and your light,
and so good night.

 

About Roger W. Smith

Roger W. Smith is a writer and independent scholar based in New York City. His experience includes freelance writing and editing, business writing, book reviewing, and the teaching of writing and literature as an adjunct professor. Mr. Smith's interests include personal essays and opinion pieces; American and world literature; culture, especially books and reading; current issues that involve social, moral, and philosophical views; and experiences of daily living from a ground level perspective. He hosts separate websites devoted to the authors Theodore Dreiser and Pitirim A. Sorokin and to classical music as well as family history/genealogy.
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