%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Common Cries of London Town, / Some go up street, some go down. / With Turners Dish of Stuff, or a Gallymausery. Turner, W. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1662-1662 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 06/28/2014 33383

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R185803 1 Watton Towns End. London is a Fine Town Watton Town's End. My Masters all attend you, / if mirth you love to heare, THat's the fat foole of the Curtin, / and the lean fool of the Bull: Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 841 1: 841 The Common Cries of London Town, / Some go up street, some go down. / With Turners Dish of Stuff, or a Gallymausery. The Common Cries of London Town, Some go up street, some go down. With Turners Dish of Stuff, or a Gallymausery. The Common Cries of London Town, Some go up street, some go down. With Turner's Dish of Stuff, or a Gallymausery. Turner, W. 1662-1662 F.C. T.V. and W.G

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 6/28/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America London urban life vice Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/28/2014 12:22:24 PM XBallad Chow, Jeremy Created XML Version of Ballad 6/28/2014 12:22:24 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/28/2014 12:22:24 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Palmer Browne, Megan Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/28/2014 12:22:24 PM Transcriptionist Two Gotsman, Jessica Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/28/2014 12:22:24 PM Transcriptionist One Boltz, Michele Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/17/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 7/17/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/22/2014 Checker Nicole Dib Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 3/25/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/5/2012 Bibliographer Elizabeth Aguilar Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 11/5/2012 Checker Elizabeth Aguilar Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/5/2012 Checker Elizabeth Aguilar Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/24/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Common Cries of <hi rend="bold">London</hi> Town,</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Some go up street, some go down.</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">With Turners Dish of Stuff, or a Gallymausery.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the Tune of, <hi rend="bold">Watton Towns End.</hi></hi></seg>
MY Masters all attend you, if mirth you love to heare, And I will tell you what they cry in London all the yeare. Ile please you if I can, I will not be too long, I pray you all attend awhile, and listen to my song. The fish-wife first begins, nye Muskles lilly white, Herrings, Sprats, or Place, or Cockles for delight. Nye welflet Oysters, then she doth change her note, She had need to have her tongue be greas'd for she rattles in the throat. For why they are but Kentish to tell you out of doubt, Her measure is too little goe beat the bottom out: Half a peck for two pence, I doubt it is a bodge, Thus all the City over the people they do dodge. The wench that cries the Kitchin stuff I marvel what she ayle, She sings her note so merry, but she hath a draggle tayle: An empty Car came running and hit her on the bum, Down she threw her greasie tub, and away straight she did run:
But she did give her blessing to some, but not to all, To bear a load to Tyburne: and there to let it fall. The Miller and his golden thumb and his durty neck, If that he grind but two bushels, he must needs steal a peck. The Weaver and the Taylor cozens they be sure, They cannot work but they must steal to keep their hands in ure. For it is a common Proverb thorowout all the town, The Taylor he must cut three sleeves to every womans Gown. Mark but the Waterman attending for his fare, Of hot and cold, of wet and dry he alwaies takes his share, He carrieth bonny Lasses over to the playes, And here and there he gets a bit, and that his stomack staies. There was a singing boy did ride to Rumford; When I go to my close stool, I will put him in a comfort: But what I leave behind shall be no private gain; But all is one, when I am gone, let him take it for his pain.
Old shoes for new brooms the broom-man he doth sing, For hats or caps or buskins, or any old pouch ring. Buy a Mat a bed-Mat, a Hassock or a Pesse, A cover for a close stool a bigger or a lesse. Ripe Cherry ripe the Coster-mongers cries, Pippins fine or Pears another after hies. With basket on his head his living to advance, And in his purse a pair of Dice, for to play at Munchance. Hot pippin pies to sell unto my friends, Or pudding pies in pans, well stuft with candles ends. Will you buy any Milk, I heard a wench that cries, With a pale of fresh Cheese and cream, another after hies. Oh the wench went neatly, me thought it did me good, To see her cherry cheeks so dimpled ore with bloud; Her wastcoat washed white as any lilly flowre, Would I had time to talk with her the space of half an hour. Buy blaok, saith the blacking man the best that ere was seen; Tis good for poor men Citizens, to make their shooes to shine. Oh tis a rare commodity, it must not be forgot; It wil make them to glister gallantly and quickly make them rot. The world is full of thred-bare poets that live upon their pen; But they will write too eloquent, they are such witty men. But the Tinker with his budget the beggar with his wallet, And Turner's turnd a gallant man at making of a Ballet.
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Second Part. To the same Tune.</hi></seg>
THat's the fat foole of the Curtin, and the lean fool of the Bull: Since Shanke did leave to sing his rimes, he is counted but a gull. The Players on the Banckeside, the round Globe and the Swan, Will teach you idle tricks of love: but the Bull will play the man. But what do I stand tattling of such idle toyes? I had better go to Smith-field to play among the boyes. But you cheating and deceiving lads, with your base artillery, I would wish you shun Newgate, and withall the Pillory. And some there be in patcht gownes, I know not what they be, That pinch the Country-men with nimming of a fee: For where they get a booty they'le make him pay so dear, They'le entertain more in a day, then he shall in a year. Which makes them trim up houses made of brick and stone: And poor men go a begging, when house and land is gone. Some there be with both hands will swear they will not dally, Till they have turn'd all upside down as many use to sally. You Pedlers give good measure, when as your wares you sell, tho' your yard be short, your thum will slip, your tricks I know full well. And you that sell your wares by waight and live upon the trade, Some beams be false, some waits too light: such tricks there have been plaid. But small Coals, or great Coals, I have them on my back, The goose lies in the bottom, you may hear the Duck cry quack, Thus grim the black Collier, whose living is so loose, As he doth walk the commons ore, sometimes he steals a Goose. Thou Usurer, with thy money bags that livest so at ease By gaping after gold, thou dost thy mighty God displease, And for thy greedy usury, and thy great extortion,
Except thou dost repent thy sins, hellfire will be thy portion. For first I came to Houns-ditch then round about I crept, Where cruelty was crowned chief, and pity fast asleep: Where Usury gets profit, and brokers bear the bell. Oh fie upon this deadly sin, it sinks the soul to hell. The man that sweeps the chimnyes with the bush of thorns, And on his neck a trusse of poles tipped all with horns: With care he is not cumbred, he liveth not in dread; For though he wear them on his pole some wear them on their head. The Landlord with his racking rents turn poor men out of dore, Their children go a begging, where they have spent their store. I hope none is offended with that which is endited; If any be, let him go home, and take a pen and write it. Buy a trap a Mouse trap, a torment for the fleas: The Hang-man works but half that day he lives too much at ease. Come let us leave this boyes play, and idle prittle prat, And let us go to nine holes, to spurn-point or to cat. Oh you nimble fingered lads that live upon your wits, Take heed of Tyburn Ague, for they be dangerous fits: For many a proper man for to supply his lack, Loth leap a leap at Tyburn, which makes his neck to crack. And to him that writ this song I give this simple lot: Let everyone be ready to give him half a pot. And thus I do conclude, wishing both health and peace To those that are laid in their bed, and cannot sleep for fleas.
FINIS. W. Turner London, Printed for F.C. T.V. and W.G. 1662.