The sun kiss'd the flowers as he rose from the sea bright, And their golden eyes opened with beauty and glee bright, Their sweets are untasted by hornet or bee-- They are fresh as the morning and lovely to see-- So reject not the blossoms now offered by me-- _But buy, buy, buy, buy_.

Nay, never refuse me, nor cry my buds down, They are nature's production, and sweet ones, you'll own; And tho' torn from the earth, they will smile in your hall, They will bloom in a cottage, be it ever so small-- And still look the lovliest flowers of all!

_So buy, buy, buy, buy._

THE LONDON CRIES IN LONDON STREETS.

_Embellished with Pretty Cuts, For the use of Good little Boys and Girls, and a Copy of Verses._

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Printed by T. BIRT, Great St. Andrew Street, Wholesale & Retail, 30, Seven Dials, London.

_Country Orders punctually attended to._

EVERY DESCRIPTION OF PRINTING DONE CHEAP.

TRAVELLERS AND SHOPKEEPERS SUPPLIED WITH SHEET HYMNS, PATTERS, AND SLIP SONGS, AS CHEAP AND GOOD AS ANY SHOP IN LONDON.

T. BIRT.

TO THE GOOD LITTLE MASTERS AND MISTRESSES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY.

Here! look at the Cries of London town, For you need not travel there; But view you those of most renown, Whilst sitting in your chair.

At Home--a hundred miles away, 'Tis easy now to look At the Cries of London gay, In this our little book.

Yes; there in quiet you may be, Beside the winter's fire, And read as well as see, All those that you desire.

Or underneath the oak so grey, That grows beside the briar; May pa.s.s the summer's eve away, And view each City Crier.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BUY A GAZETTE? GREAT NEWS!]

In the Gazette great news, to-day: The enemy is beat, they say, And all are eager to be told-- The news, the new events unfold.

[Ill.u.s.tration: COME BUY MY FINE ROSES.]

Come buy my fine roses, My myrtles and stocks; My sweet smelling balsams And close growing box.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BUY AN ALMANACK: NEW ALMANACKS.]

My Almanacks aim at no learning at all, But only to show when the holidays fall: And tell, as by study we easily may, How many eclipses the year will display.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BUY A MOP? BUY A MOP?]

My Mop is so big, It might serve as a wig For a judge, had he no objection; And as to my brooms, They will sweep dirty rooms, And make the dust fly, to perfection.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LOBSTERS AND CRABS.]

Here's lobsters and crabs, Alive, O! and good, So buy if you please; This delicate food.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MILK FROM THE COW.]

Rich Milk from the Cow, Both sweet and fine; The doctors declare; It is better than wine.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BUY A BASKET, LARGE OR SMALL?]

Buy a basket? large or small?

For all sorts I've got by me, So come ye forth, one and all, If you buy once, another time you'll try me.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BUY A CANE FOR NAUGHTY BOYS.]

I've Sticks and Canes for old and young, To either they are handy, In driving off a barking cur, Or chastising a dandy.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HOT RICE-MILK.]

Hot Rice-Milk this woman calls-- Behold her bright can, As up and down the streets she bawls Hot Rice-Milk to warm the inner man.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PEACHES AND NECTARINES.]

Nice Peaches and Nectarines Just fresh from the tree; All you who have money, Come buy them of me.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HOT SPICE-GINGERBREAD.]

Hot Spice-Gingerbread, hot! hot! all hot!

This noisy fellow loudly bawls, Hot! hot! hot! smoking hot! red hot!

In every street or public place he calls.

COME, BUY MY SPICE-GINGERBREAD, SMOKING HOT! HOT! HOT!

Come, boys and girls, men and maids, widows and wives, The best penny laid out you e'er spent in your lives; Here's my whirl-a-gig lottery, a penny a spell, No blanks, but all prizes, and that's pretty well.

Don't stand humming and ha-aring, with ifs and with buts, Try your luck for my round and sound gingerbread-nuts; And there's my glorious spice-gingerbread, too, Hot enough e'en to thaw the heart of a Jew.

Hot spice-gingerbread, hot! hot! all hot!

Come, buy my spice-gingerbread, smoking hot!

I'm a gingerbread-merchant, but what of that, then?

All the world, take my word, deal in gingerbread ware; Your fine beaus and your belles and your rattlepate rakes-- One half are game-nuts, the rest gingerbread cakes; Then in gingerbread coaches we've gingerbread lords, And gingerbread soldiers with gingerbread swords.

And what are you patriots, 'tis easy to tell-- By their constantly crying they've something to sell.

And what harm is there in selling--_hem!_--

Hot spice-gingerbread, &c.

My gingerbread-lottery is just like the world, For its index of chances for ever is twirled; But some difference between'em exist, without doubt, The world's lottery has blanks, while mine's wholly without, There's no matter how often you shuffle and cut, If but once in ten games you can get a game-nut.

So I laugh at the world, like an impudent elf, And just like my betters, take care of myself, and my--

Hot spice-gingerbread, &c.