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A History of the Cries of London by Hindley

I must trudge my wares to sell

I am a lusty beggar, And live by others giving! I scorn to work, But by the highway lurk, And beg to get my living: I'll i' the wind and weather, And wear all ragged garments; Yet, though I'm bare, I'm free from care,-- A fig for high preferments!

_Therefore I'll cry, &c._

* * * *

My flesh I can so temper That it shall seem to fester, And look all o'er Like a raw sore, Whereon I stick a plaister. With blood I daub my face then, To feign the falling sickness, That in every place They pity my case, As if it came through weakness.

_Therefore I'll cry, &c._

* * * *

No tricks at all shall escape me, But I will by my maunding, Get some relief To ease my grief When by the highway standing: 'Tis better be a Beggar, And ask of kind good fellows, And honestly have What we do crave, Than steal and go to the gallows.

_Therefore I'll cry, "Good your worship, good sir, Bestow one poor denier, sir, Which, when I've got, At the Pipe and Pot I soon will it cashier, sir."_


justify;"> Printed at London for F. Coules.

The following ballad was published in "Playford's Select Ayres," 1659, p. 95; with music by Dr. John Wilson, and Musical Companion, 1673. It is in the Percy Folio MS., iii., 308-11. Also in "Windsor Drollery," 2; and "Le Prince d'Amour," 1660, p. 177. It is attributed to Shakespeare, but with only manuscript evidence.


"From the fair Lavinian shore, I your markets come to store. Muse not though so far I dwell And my wares come here to sell: Such is the insatiate thirst after gold, Then come to my pack While I cry, what d'ye lack, What d'ye buy? for here it is to be sold.

"Courteous Sir, I've wares for you, Garters red and stockings blue, Dainty gaudes for Sunday gear, Beads and laces for your dear, First let me have but a touch of your gold Then come--Not a swain, Half so neat, On the plain Shall we meet So comely to behold.

"Madam, come, here you may find Rings with posies to your mind, Silken bands for true-love-knot, And complexion I have got. First let me have but a touch of your gold, Then come--To your face, I'll restore Every grace Though you're more Than three score and ten years old.

"Gentles all, now fare you well, I must trudge my wares to sell; Lads so blythe and Dames so young, Drop a guerdon for my song. Just let me have but a touch of your gold, I'll come with my pack Again to cry, What d'ye lack, What d'ye buy? For here it is to be sold."

Mr. John Payne Collier, in his "_A Book of Roxburghe Ballads_," London, 1847, reproduces a capital ditty; "ryhte merrie and very excellent in its way," relating to the popular pursuits and the customs of London and the Londoners in the early part of the seventeenth century. It is printed _verbatim_ from a broadside, signed W. Turner, and called:--

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