Chapter IX: Epilogue (5)

"Not they, sir," replied Mr. Weller, touching his hat. "I lodged in
the same house vith a pieman once, sir, and a wery nice man he
was--reg'lar clever chap too--made pies out o' anything, he could.
'What a number o' cats you keep, Mr. Brooks,' says I, when I'd got
intimate with him. 'Ah,' says he, 'I do--a good many,' says he. 'You
must be wery fond o' cats,' says I. 'Other people is,' says he, a
winkin' at me; 'they an't in season till the winter though,' says he.
'Not in season!' says I. 'No,' says he, 'fruits is in, cats is out.'
'Why, what do you mean?' says I. 'Mean?' says he. 'That I'll never be
a party to the combination o' the butchers, to keep up the prices o'
meat,' says he. 'Mr. Weller,' says he, a squeezing my hand wery hard,
and vispering in my ear--'don't mention this here agin--but it's the
seasonin' that does it. They're all made o' them noble animals,' says
he, a pointin' to a wery nice little tabby kitten, 'and I seasons 'em
for beef-steaks, weal, or kidney, 'cordin to demand. And more than
that,' says he, 'I can make a weal a beef-steak, or a beef-steak a
kidney, or any one on 'em a mutton, at a minute's notice, just as the
market changes, and appetites wary!"

"He must have been a very ingenious young man, that, Sam," said Mr.
Pickwick, with a slight shudder.

"Just was, sir," replied Mr. Weller, continuing his occupation of
emptying the basket, "_and the pies was beautiful_."

The "gravy" given with the meat-pies is poured out of an oil-can and consists of a little salt and water browned. A hole is made with the little finger in the top of the pie and the "gravy" poured in until the crust rises sufficiently to satisfy the young critical gourmand's taste.

"The London piemen," says Mr. Henry Mayhew, "May be numbered at about forty in winter, and twice that number in summer." Calculating that there are only fifty plying their trade the year through, and their average earnings at 8s. a week, we find a street expenditure exceeding L1,040, and a street consumption of pies amounting to nearly three quarters of a million yearly.

Young lambs to sell! young lambs to sell.
If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I'd not come here with young lambs to sell!
Dolly and Molly, Richard and Nell,
Buy my young lambs, and I'll use you well!]

The engraving represents an old "London Crier," one William Liston, from a drawing for which he purposely _stood_ in 1826.

This "public character" was born in the City of Glasgow. He became a soldier in the waggon-train commanded by Colonel Hamilton, and served under the Duke of York in Holland, where, on the 6th of October, 1799, he lost his right arm and left leg, and his place in the army. His misfortunes thrust distinction upon him. From having been a private in the ranks, where he would have remained undistinguished, he became one of the popular street-characters of his day.

In Miss Eliza Cook's Poem "Old Cries" she sings in no feeble strain the praises of the old man of her youthful days, who cried--"Merry and free as a marriage bell":--

YOUNG LAMBS TO SELL.

There was a man in olden time,
And a troubador was he;
Whose passing chant and lilting rhyme
Had mighty charms for me.

My eyes grew big with a sparkling stare,
And my heart began to swell,
When I heard his loud song filling the air
About "Young lambs to sell!"

His flocks were white as the falling snow,
With collars of shining gold;
And I chose from the pretty ones "all of a row,"
With a joy that was untold.

Oh, why did the gold become less bright,
Why did the soft fleece lose its white,
And why did the child grow old?

'Twas a blithe, bold song the old man sung;
The words came fast, and the echoes rung,
Merry and free as "a marriage bell;"
And a right, good troubadour was he,
For the hive never swarmed to the chinking key,
As the wee things did when they gathered in glee
To his musical cry--"Young lambs to sell!"

Ah, well-a-day! it hath passed away,
With my holiday pence and my holiday play--
I wonder if I could listen again,
As I listened then, to that old man's strain--
All of a row--"Young lambs to sell."

Round and sound,
Two-pence a pound.
Cherries, rare ripe cherries!

Cherries a ha'penny a stick
Come and pick! come and pick!
Cherries big as plums! who comes, who comes.]

The late George Cruikshank, whose pencil was ever distinguished by power of decision in every character he sketched, and whose close observation of passing men and manners was unrivalled by any artist of his day, contributed the "London Barrow-woman" to the pages of Hone's _Every-Day Book_ in 1826 from his own recollection of her.

These poor "Buy-a-Broom girls" exactly dress now,
As Hollar etch'd such girls two cent'ries ago;
All formal and stiff, with legs, only at ease--
Yet, pray, judge for yourself; and don't if you please,

* * * * *

But ask for the print, at old print shops--they'll show it,
And look at it, "with your own eyes," and you'll _know_ it.]

Buy a Broom? was formerly a very popular London-cry, when it was usually rendered thus:--"_Puy a Proom, puy a prooms? a leetle von for ze papy, and a pig vons for ze lady: Puy a Proom_." Fifty years ago Madame Vestris charmed the town by her singing and displaying her legs as a _Buy-a-Broom Girl_.

Buy a broom, buy a broom,
Large broom, small broom,
No lady should e'er be without one, &c.

But time and fashion has _swept_ both the brooms and the girls from our shores.--Madame Vestris lies head-to-head with Charles Mathews in Kensal Green Cemetery. _Tempus omnia revelat._

Old Maids, your custom I invites,
Fork out, and don't be shabby,
And don't begrudge a bit of lights
Or liver for your Tabby.

Hark! how the Pusses make a rout--
To buy you can't refuse;
So may you never be without
The _music_ of their _mews_.

Here's famous meat--all lean, no fat--
No better in Great Britain;
Come, buy a penn'orth for your Cat--
A happ'orth for your Kitten.

Come all my barrow for a bob!
Some charity diskivir;
For faith, it ar'n't an easy job
To _live_ by selling _liver_.

Who'll buy? who'll buy of Catsmeat-Nan!
I've bawl'd till I am sick;
But ready money is my plan;
I never gives no tick.

I've got no customers as yet--
In wain is my appeal--
And not to buy a single bit
Is werry ungenteel!]

Every morning as true as the clock--the quiet of "Our Village Green" is broken by a peculiar and suggestive cry. We do not hear it yet ourselves, but Pincher, our black and tan terrier dog, and Smut, our black and white cat, have both caught the well-known accents, and each with natural characteristic--the one wagging his tail, the other with a stiff perpendicular [dorsel appendage] sidles towards the door, demanding as plainly as possible, to be let out. Yes, it is "Our Dandy Cats' and Dogs' Meat Man," with his "_Ca' me-e-et--dogs' me yet--Ca' or do-args-me-a-yet, me a-t--me-yett!!!_" that fills the morning air, and arouses exactly seven dogs of various kinds, and exactly thirty-one responsive feline voices--there is a cat to every house on "Our Village Green"--and causes thirty-one aspiring cat's-tails to point to the zenith. We do not know how it is, but the Cat's-meat man is the most unerring and punctual of all those peripatetic functionaries who undertake to cater for the public. The baker, the butcher, the grocer, the butterman, the fishmonger, and the coster, occasionally forget your necessities, or omit to call for your orders--the cat's-meat man never!

There cannot be a better representation of "Guy Fawkes," as he was borne about the metropolis in effigy in the days "When George the Third was King," than the above sketch by George Cruikshank.

Please to remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot;
We know no reason, why gunpowder treason,
Should ever be forgot!
Holla boys! holla boys! huzza-a-a!
A stick and a stake, for King George's sake,
A stick and a stump, for Guy Fawkes' rump!
Holla boys! holla boys! huzza-a-a!

All round my hat I vears a green villow,
All round my hat, for a twelvemonth and a day;
If any body axes me the reason vy I vears it,
I tells 'em that my own true love is far far away.
'Twas a going of my rounds, in the streets I first did meet her,
Oh, I thought she vos a hangel just come down from the sky;

SPOKEN.--She's a nice wegitable countenance; turnup nose, redish cheeks,
and carroty hair.

And I never knew a voice more louder or more sweeter,
Vhen she cried, buy my primroses, my primroses come buy.

SPOKEN.--Here's your fine colliflowers.

All round, &c.

O, my love she was fair, my love she was kind, too,
And cruel vos the cruel judge vot had my love to try:

SPOKEN.--Here's your precious turnups.

For thieving vos a thing she never vos inclined to:
But he sent my love across the seas, far far away.

SPOKEN.--Here's your hard-hearted cabbages.

All round, &c.

For seven long years my love and I is parted,
For seven long years my love is bound to stay.

SPOKEN.--It's a precious long time 'fore I does any trade to-day.

Bad luck to that chap vot'd ever be false-hearted,
Oh, I'll love my love for ever, tho' she's far far away.

SPOKEN.--Here's your nice heads of salary!

All round, &c.

There is some young men so preciously deceitful,
A coaxing of the young gals they vish to lead astray.

SPOKEN.--Here's your Valnuts; crack'em and try'em, a shilling a hundred!

As soon as they deceives'em, so cruelly they leaves 'em,
And they never sighs nor sorrows ven they're far far away!--

SPOKEN.--Do you vant any hingons to-day, marm?

All round, &c.

Oh, I bought my love a ring on the werry day she started,
Vich I gave her as a token all to remember me:

SPOKEN.--Bless her h-eyes,

And vhen she does come back, oh, ve'll never more be parted
But ve'll marry and be happy--oh, for ever and a day.

SPOKEN.--Here's your fine spring redishes.

All round, &c.

_Tune_--"The Night Coach."

Dear me! what a squalling and a bawling,
What noise, and what bustle in London pervades;
People of all sorts shouting and calling,
London's a mart, sure, for men of all trades.
The _chummy_ so black, sir, with bag on his back, sir,
Commences the noise with the cry of "sweep, sweep!"
Then Dusty and Crusty with voices so lusty,
Fish-men and green-men, their nuisances keep.
Dear me, &c.

Fine water cresses, two bunches a penny,
Fine new milk, two-pence ha'p'ny a quart!
Come buy my fine matches--as long as I've any,
Carrots and turnips, the finest e'er bought.
Dainty fresh salmon! _without_ any _gammon_,
Hare skins or rabbit skins! hare skins, cook I buy!
'Taters all sound, sir, two-pence six pounds, sir,
Coals ten-pence a bushel, buy them and try.
Dear me, &c.

Here's songs three yards for a penny!
Comic songs, love songs, and funny songs, too;
_Billy Barlow_,--_Little Mike_,--_Paddy Denny!_
_The Bailiffs are coming_--_The Hero of Waterloo_.
Eels four-pence a pound--pen knives here ground,
Scissors ground sharp, a penny a pair!
Tin kettles to mend, sir, your fenders here send, sir,
For six-pence a piece, I will paint 'em with care.
Dear me, &c.

Come buy my _old man_, a penny a root,
The whole true account of the murder last night!
Fine Seville oranges, ne'er was such fruit,
Just printed and published, the last famous fight.
Arrived here this morning--strange news from Greece,
A victory gain'd o'er the great Turkish fleet;
Chairs to mend--hair brooms, a shilling a piece!
Cap box, bonnet box--cats' and dogs' meat.
Dear me, &c.

Here's _inguns_ a penny a rope,
Pots and pans--old clothes, clo' for sale!
A dread storm near the Cape of Good Hope.
Greens two-pence a bunch--twenty-pence a new pail.
Sprats, a penny a plateful--I should feel werry grateful,
Kind friends for a ha'p'ny for my babe's sakes;
Shrimps, penny a pot--baked 'taters all hot!
Muffins and crumpets, or fine Yorkshire cakes.
Dear me, &c.

"Had I a _Garden_, a _Field_ and a _Gate_,
I would not care for the Duke of Bedford's estate;
That is, I would not care for the Duke of Bedford's estate,
If I had _Covent Garden_, _Smithfield_, and _Billingsgate_."

Billingsgate has from time immemorial had much to do with "The Cries of London," and although a rough and unromantic place at the present day, has an ancient legend of its own, that associates it with royal names and venerable folk. Geoffrey of Monmouth deposeth that about 400 years before Christ's nativity, Belin, a king of the Britons, built this gate and gave it its name, and that when he was dead the royal body was burnt, and the ashes set over the gate in a vessel of brass, upon a high pinnacle of stone. The London historian, John Stow, more prosaic, on the other hand, is quite satisfied that one Biling once owned the wharf, and troubles himself no further.

Byllngsgate Dock is mentioned as an important quay in "Brompton's Chronicle" (Edward III.), under the date 976, when King Ethelred, being then at Wantage, in Berkshire, made laws for regulating the customs on ships at Byllngsgate, then the only wharf in London. 1. Small vessels were to pay one halfpenny. 2. Larger ones, with sails, one penny. 3. Keeles, or hulks, still larger, fourpence. 4. Ships laden with wood, one log shall be given for toll. 5. _Boats with fish_, according to size, a halfpenny. 6. Men of Rouen, who came with wine or peas, and men of Flanders and Liege, were to pay toll before they began to sell, but the Emperor's men (Germans of the Steel Yard) paid an annual toll. 7. Bread was tolled three times a week, cattle were paid for in kind, and butter and cheese were paid more for before Christmas than after.

Hence we gather that at a very early period Billingsgate was not merely a fish-market, but for the sale of general commodities. Paying toll in kind is a curious fiscal regulation; though, doubtless, when barter was the ordinary mode of transacting business, taxes must have been collected in the form of an instalment of the goods brought to market.

Our ancestors four hundred years ago had, in proportion to the population of London, much more abundant and much cheaper fish than we have now. According to the "Noble Boke off Cookry," a reprint of which, from the rare manuscript in the Holkham Collection, has just been edited by Mrs. Alexander Napier, Londoners in the reign of Henry VII. could regale on "baked porpois," "turbert," "pik in braissille," "mortins of ffishe," "eles in bruet," "fresh lamprey bak," "breme," in "sauce" and in "brasse," "soal in brasse," "sturgion boiled," "haddock in cevy," "codling haddock," "congur," "halobut," "gurnard or rocket boiled," "plaice or flounders boiled," "whelks boiled," "perche boiled," "freeke makrell," "bace molet," "musculles," in "shelles" and in "brothe," "tench in cevy," and "lossenge for ffishe daies." For the rich there were "potages of oysters," "blang mang" and "rape" of "ffishe," to say nothing of "lampry in galantyn" and "lampry bak." Our forefathers ate more varieties of fish, cooked it better, and paid much less for it than we do, with all our railways and steamboats, our Fisheries' Inspectors, our Fisheries Exhibion and new Fish Markets with their liberal rules and regulations. To be sure, those same forefathers of ours not only enacted certain very stringent laws against "forestalling" and "regrating," but were likewise accustomed to enforce them, and to make short work upon occasion of the forestalled and regraters of fish, as of other commodities.

In Donald Lupton's "London and the Covntrey Carbonadoed and Quartred into seuerall Characters. London, Printed by Nicholas Okes, 1632," the nymphs of the locality are thus described:--

FISHERWOMEN:--These crying, wandering, and travelling creatures carry
their shops on their heads, and their storehouse is ordinarily
Byllyngsgate, or Ye Brydge-foot; and their habitation Turnagain Lane.
They set up every morning their trade afresh. They are easily
furnished; get something and spend it jovially and merrily. Five
shillings, a basket, and a good cry, are a large stock for them. They
are the merriest when all their ware is gone. In the morning they
delight to have their shop full; at evening they desire to have it
empty. Their shop is but little, some two yards compass, yet it holds
all sort of fish, or herbs, or roots, and such like ware. Nay, it is
not destitute often of nuts, oranges, and lemons. They are free in all
places, and pay nothing for rent, but only find repairs to it. If they
drink their whole stock, it is but pawning a petticoate in Long Lane,
or themselves in Turnbull Street, to set up again. They change daily;
for she that was for fish this day, may be to-morrow for fruit, next
day for herbs, another for roots; so that you must hear them cry
before you know what they are furnished withal. When they have done
their Fair, they meet in mirth, singing, dancing, and end not till
either their money, or wit, or credit be clean spent out. Well, when
on any evening they are not merry in a drinking house, it is thought
they have had bad return, or else have paid some old score, or else
they are bankrupt: they are creatures soon up and soon down.

The above quaint account of the ancient Billingsgate ladies answers exactly to the costermonger's wives of the present day, who are just as careless and improvident; they are merry over their rope of onions, and laugh over a basketful of stale sprats. In their dealings and disputes they are as noisy as ever, and rather apt to put decency and good manners to the blush. Billingsgate eloquence has long been proverbial for coarse language, so that low abuse is often termed, "_That's talking Billingsgate!_" or, that, "_You are no better than a Billingsgate fish-fag_"--_i.e._, You are as rude and ill-mannered as the women of Billingsgate fish-market (Saxon, _bellan_, "to bawl," and _gate_, "quay," meaning the noisy quay). The French say "Maubert," instead of Billingsgate, as "_Your compliments are like those of the Place Maubert_"--_i.e._, No compliments at all, but vulgar dirt-flinging. The "Place Maubert," has long been noted for its market.

"It is well thou art not a fish, for then thou would'st have been _Poor John_"--_Romeo and Juliet_.]

The introduction of steamboats has much altered the aspect of Billingsgate. Formerly, passengers embarked here for Gravesend and other places down the river, and a great many sailors mingled with the salesmen and fishermen. The boats sailed only when the tide served, and the necessity of being ready at the strangest hours rendered many taverns necessary for the accommodation of travellers. The market formerly opened two hours earlier than at present, and the result was demoralising and exhausting. Drink led to ribald language and fighting, but the refreshment now taken is chiefly tea or coffee, and the general language and behaviour has improved. The fish-fags of Ned Ward's time have disappeared, and the business is done smarter and quicker. As late as 1842 coaches would sometimes arrive at Billingsgate from Dover or Brighton, and so affect the market. The old circle from which dealers in their carts attended the market, included Windsor, St. Alban's, Hertford, Romford, and other places within twenty-five miles. Railways have now enlarged the area of purchasers to an indefinite degree.

To see this market in its busiest time, says Mr. Mayhew, "the visitor should be there about seven o'clock on a Friday morning." The market opens at four, but for the first two or three hours it is attended solely by the regular fishmongers and "bummarees," who have the pick of the best there. As soon as these are gone the costermonger's sale begins. Many of the costers that usually deal in vegetables buy a little fish on the Friday. It is the fast day of the Irish, and the mechanics' wives run short of money at the end of the week, and so make up their dinners with fish: for this reason the attendance of costers' barrows at Billingsgate on a Friday morning is always very great. As soon as you reach the Monument you see a line of them, with one or two tall fishmongers' carts breaking the uniformity, and the din of the cries and commotion of the distant market begin to break on the ear like the buzzing of a hornet's nest. The whole neighbourhood is covered with hand-barrows, some laden with baskets, others with sacks. The air is filled with a kind of sea-weedy odour, reminding one of the sea-shore; and on entering the market, the smell of whelks, red herrings, sprats, and a hundred other sorts of fish, is almost overpowering. The wooden barn looking square[14] where the fish is sold is, soon after six o'clock, crowded with shiny cord jackets and greasy caps. Everybody comes to Billingsgate in his worst clothes; and no one knows the length of time a coat can be worn until they have been to a fish sale. Through the bright opening at the end are seen the tangled rigging of the oyster boats, and the red-worsted caps of the sailors. Over the hum of voices is heard the shouts of the salesmen, who, with their white aprons, peering above the heads of the mob, stand on their tables roaring out their prices. All are bawling together--salesmen and hucksters of provisions, capes, hardware, and newspapers--till the place is a perfect Babel of competition.

"Ha-a-andsome cod! best in the market! All alive! alive! alive,
oh!"--"Ye-o-o! ye-o-o! Here's your fine Yarmouth bloaters! Who's the
buyer?"--"Here you are, governor; splendid whiting! some of the right
sort!"--"Turbot! turbot! All alive, turbot."--"Glass of nice
peppermint, this cold morning? Halfpenny a glass!"--"Here you are, at
your own price! Fine soles, oh!"--"Oy! oy! oy! Now's your time! Fine
grizzling sprats! all large, and no small!"--"Hullo! hullo, here!
Beautiful lobsters! good and cheap. Fine cock crabs, all alive,
oh!"--"Five brill and one turbot--have that lot for a pound! Come and
look at 'em, governor; you won't see a better lot in the
market!"--"Here! this way; this way, for splendid skate! Skate, oh!
skate, oh!"--"Had-had-had-had-haddock! All fresh and good!"--"Currant
and meat puddings! a ha'penny each!"--"Now, you mussel-buyers, come
along! come along! come along! Now's your time for fine fat
mussels!"--"Here's food for the belly, and clothes for the back; but I
sell food for the mind!" shouts the newsvendor.--"Here's smelt,
oh!"--"Here ye are, fine Finney haddick!"--"Hot soup! nice pea-soup!
a-all hot! hot!"--"Ahoy! ahoy, here! Live plaice! all alive,
oh!"--"Now or never! Whelk! whelk! whelk!" "Who'll buy brill, oh!
brill, oh?"--"Capes! waterproof capes! Sure to keep the wet out! A
shilling apiece!"--"Eels, oh! eels, oh! Alive, oh! alive oh!"--"Fine
flounders, a shilling a lot! Who'll have this prime lot of
flounders?"--"Shrimps! shrimps! fine shrimps!"--"Wink! wink!
wink!"--"Hi! hi-i! here you are; just eight eels left--only
eight!"--"O ho! O ho! this way--this way--this way! Fish alive! alive!
alive, oh."

BILLINGSGATE; OR, THE SCHOOL OF RHETORIC.

Near London Bridge once stood a gate,
Belinus gave it name,
Whence the green Nereids oysters bring,
A place of public fame.

Here eloquence has fixed her seat,
The nymphs here learn by heart
In mode and figure still to speak,
By modern rules of art.

To each fair oratress this school
Its rhetoric strong affords;
They double and redouble tropes,
With finger, fish, and words.

Both nerve and strength and flow of speech,
With beauties ever new,
Adorn the language of these nymphs,
Who give it all their due.

O, happy seat of happy nymphs!
For many ages known,
To thee each rostrum's forc'd to yield--
Each forum in the town.

Let other academies boast
What titles else they please;
Thou shalt be call'd "the gate of tongues,"
Of tongues that never cease.

The sale of hot green peas in the streets of London is of great antiquity, that is to say, if the cry of "_Hot peascods! one began to cry_," recorded by Lydgate in his _London Lackpenny_, may be taken as having intimated the sale of the same article under the modern cry of "_Hot green peas! all hot, all hot! Here's your peas, hot, hot, hot!_" In many parts of the country it is, or was, customary to have a "_scalding of peas_," as a sort of rustic festivity, at which green peas scalded or slightly boiled with their pods on are the main dish. Being set on the table in the midst of the party, each person dips his peapod in a common cup of melted butter, seasoned with salt and pepper, and extracts the peas by the agency of his teeth. At times one bean, shell and all is put into the steaming mass, whoever gets this bean is to be first married.

The sellers of green peas "hot, all hot!" have no stands but carry them in a tin pot or pan which is wrapped round with a thick cloth, to retain the heat. The peas are served out with a ladle, and eaten by the customers out of basins provided with spoons by the vendor. Salt and pepper are supplied _at discretion_, but the _fresh!_ butter to grease 'em (_avec votre permission_.)

The hot green peas are sold out in halfpennyworths and pennyworths, some vendors, in addition to the usual seasoning supplied, add _a suck of bacon_. The "suck of bacon" is obtained by the street Arabs from a piece of that article, securely fastened by a string, to obtain a "relish" for the peas, or as is usually said "to flavour 'em;" sometimes these young gamins manage to bite the string and then _bolt_ not only the bacon, but away from the vendors. The popular saying "a plate of veal cut with a _hammy_ knife" is but a refined rendering of the pea and suck-'o-bacon, street luxury trick.

Pea soup is also sold in the streets of London, but not to the extent it was twenty years ago, when the chilled labourer and others having only a halfpenny to spend would indulge in a basin of--"_All hot!_"

Here comes the old mail with his flowers to sell,
Along the streets merrily going;
Full many a year I've remember'd him well,
With, "Flowers, a-growing, a-blowing."

Geraniums in dresses of scarlet and green;
Thick aloes, that blossom so rarely;
The long creeping cereus with prickles so keen,
Or primroses modest and early.

The myrtle dark green, and the jessamine pale,
Sweet scented and gracefully flowing,
This flower-man carries and offers for sale,
"All flourishing, growing, and blowing."]

With the coming in of spring there is a large sale of Palm; on the Saturday preceding and on Palm Sunday; also of May, the fragrant flower of the hawthorn, and lilac in flower. But perhaps the pleasantest of all cries in early spring is that of "_Flowers--All a-growing--all a-blowing_," heard for the first time in the season. Their beauty and fragrance gladden the senses; and the first and unexpected sight of them may prompt hopes of the coming year, such as seem proper to the spring.

"Come, gentle spring! ethereal mildness! come."

The sale of English and Foreign nuts in London is enormous, the annual export from Tarragona alone is estimated at 10,000 tons. Of the various kinds, we may mention the "Spanish," the "Barcelona," the "Brazil," the "Coker-nut," the "Chesnut," and "Though last, not least, in love"--The "Walnut!"

"As jealous as Ford, that search'd a hollow wall-nut for his wife's
lemon."--_Merry Wives of Windsor._

The walnut-tree has long existed in England, and it is estimated that upwards of 50,000 bushels of walnuts are disposed of in the wholesale markets of the London district annually. Who is not pleased to hear every Autumn the familiar cry of:--

"Crack 'em and try 'em, before you buy 'em,
Eight a-penny--All new walnuts
Crack 'em and try 'em, before you buy 'em,
A shilling a-hundred--All new-walnuts.

The history of the happy and social walnut involves some curious misconceptions. Take its name to begin with. Why walnut? What has this splendid, wide-spreading tree to do with walls, except such as are used as stepping-stones for the boys to climb up into the branches and steal the fruit? Nothing whatever! for, if we are to believe the learned in such matters, this fine old English tree, as it is sometimes called, is not an English tree at all, but a distinct and emphatic foreigner, and hence the derivation. The walnut is a native of Persia, and has been so named to distinguish the naturalised European from its companions, the hazel, the filbert, and the chesnut. In "the authorities" we are told that "gual" or "wall" means "strange" or "exotic," the same root being found in Welsh and kindred tongues; hence walnut. It is true, at any rate, that in France they retain the distinctive name "Noix Persique." There is another mistaken theory connected with the tree which bears a fruit so dear to society at large, for someone has been hazardous enough to assert that:--

"A woman, a spaniel, and a walnut tree,
The more you beat them the better they be."

And this ribald rhyme--which is of Latin origin, is now an established English proverb, or proverbial phrase, but variously construed. See Nash's "_Have with you to Saffron-Walden; or, Gabriel Harvey's Hunt is up_," 1596.--Reprinted by J. P. Collier, 1870. Moor, in his "_Suffolk Words_," pp. 465, furnishes another version, which is rather an epigram than a proverb:--

"Three things by beating better prove;
A Nut, an Ass, a Woman;
The cudgel from their back remove,
And they'll be good for no man."

"Nux, asinus, mulier simili sunt lege ligata.
Haec tria nil recte faciunt si verbera cessant.
Adducitur a cognato, est temen novum."--MARTIAL.

"_Sam_.... Why he's married, beates his wife, and has two or three
children by her: for you must note, that any woman beares the more
when she is beaten."--_A Yorkshire Tragedy_: "Not so New, as
Lamentable and true--1608," edition 1619.--Signature, _A. Verso_.

"_Flamineo._--Why do you kick her, say?
Do you think that she's like a walnut tree?
Must she be cudgell'd ere she bear good fruit?"

--Webster's "_White Devil_," 1612. iv. 4. (Works, edited by W. C.
Hazlitt, II. 105.)

Now all these statements are at once unkind and erroneous all round. We know what is declared of the "man who, save in the way of kindness, lays his hand upon a woman," to say nothing of the punishment awaiting him at the adjacent police court.[15] As to dogs, those who respect the calves of their legs had best beware of the danger of applying this recipe to any but low-spirited animals. In the case of the walnut-tree, the recommendation is again distinctly false, and the results mis-described. Possibly there are walnut-trees, as there are women, dogs, and horses, who seem none the worse for the stick; but, as a general rule, kindly treatment, for vegetable and animal alike, is the best, and, in the long run, the wisest.

In "_The Miller's Daughter_," one of the most homely and charming poems ever penned by the Poet Laureate, occurs a quatrain, spoken by an old gentleman addressing his faithful spouse:--

"So sweet it seems with thee to talk,
And once again to woo thee mine;
'Tis like an after-dinner talk
Across the walnuts and the wine."

THE CHRISTMAS HOLLY.

"The Holly! the Holly! oh, twine it with bay--
Come give the Holly a song;
For it helps to drive stern Winter away,
With his garments so sombre and long.
It peeps through the trees with its berries so red,
And its leaves of burnished green,
When the flowers and fruits have long been dead,
And not even the daisy is seen.
Then sing to the Holly, the Christmas Holly,
That hangs over the peasant and king:
While we laugh and carouse 'neath its glittering boughs,
To the Christmas Holly we'll sing."
_Eliza Cook._

In London a large sale is carried on in "Christmasing," or in the sale of holly, ivy, laurel, evergreens, bay, and mistletoe, for Christmas sports and decorations, by the family greengrocer and the costermongers. The latter of whom make the streets ring with their stentorian cry of:--

Holly! Holly!! Holly, oh!!! Christmas Holly, oh!

OLD CRIES.

BY MISS ELIZA COOK.

Oh! dearly do I love "Old Cries"
That touch my heart and bid me look
On "Bough-pots" plucked 'neath summer skies,
And "Watercresses" from the brook.
It may be vain, it may be weak,
To list when common voices speak;
But rivers with their broad, deep course,
Pour from a mean and unmarked source:
And so my warmest tide of soul
From strange, unheeded spring will roll.

"Old Cries," "Old Cries"--there is not one
But hath a mystic tissue spun
Around it, flinging on the ear
A magic mantle rich and dear,
From "Hautboys," pottled in the sun,
To the loud wish that cometh when
The tune of midnight waits is done
With "A merry Christmas, gentlemen,
And a Happy New Year--Past one-
O'clock, and a frosty morning!"

And there was a "cry" in the days gone by,
That ever came when my pillow was nigh;
When, tired and spent I was passively led
By a mother's hand, to my own sweet bed--
My lids grew heavy, and my glance was dim,
As I yawned in the midst of a cradle hymn--
When the watchman's echo lulled me quite,
With "Past ten o'clock, and a starlight night!"

Well I remember the hideous dream,
When I struggled in terror, and strove to scream,
As I took a wild leap o'er the precipice steep,
And convulsively flung off the incubus sleep.
How I loved to behold the moonshine cold
Illume each well-known curtain-fold;
And how I was soothed by the watchman's warning,
Of "Past three o'clock, and a moonlight morning!"

Oh, there was music in this "old cry,"
Whose deep, rough tones will never die:
No rare serenade will put to flight
The chant that proclaimed a "stormy night."

The "watchmen of the city" are gone,
The church-bell speaketh, but speaketh alone;
We hear no voice at the wintry dawning,
With "Past five o'clock, and a cloudy morning!"
Ah, well-a-day! it hath passed away,
But I sadly miss the cry
That told in the night when the stars were bright,
Or the rain-cloud veiled the sky.
Watchmen, Watchmen, ye are among
The bygone things that will haunt me long.

"Three bunches a penny, Primroses!"
Oh, dear is the greeting of Spring;
When she offers her dew-spangled posies;
The fairest Creation can bring.

"Three bunches a penny, Primroses!"
The echo resounds in the mart;
And the simple "cry" often uncloses
The worldly bars grating man's heart.

We reflect, we contrive, and we reckon
How best we can gather up wealth;
We go where bright finger-posts beckon,
Till we wander from Nature and Health.

But the "old cry," shall burst on our scheming,
The song of "Primroses" shall flow,
And "Three bunches a penny" set dreaming
Of all that we loved long ago.

It brings visions of meadow and mountain,
Of valley, and streamlet, and hill,
When Life's ocean but played in a fountain--
Ah, would that it sparkled so still!

It conjures back shadowless hours,
When we threaded the dark, forest ways;
When our own hand went seeking the flowers,
And our own lips were shouting their praise.

The perfume and tint of the blossom;
Are as fresh in vale, dingle, and glen;
But say, is the pulse of our bosom
As warm and as bounding as then?

"Three bunches a penny,--Primroses!"
"Three bunches a penny,--come, buy!"
A blessing on all the sweet posies,
And good-will to the poor ones who cry.

"Lavender, sweet Lavender!"
With "Cherry Ripe!" is coming;
While the droning beetles whirr,
And merry bees are humming.

"Lavender, sweet Lavender!"
Oh, pleasant is the crying;
While the rose-leaves scarcely stir,
And downy moths are flying,

Oh, dearly do I love "Old Cries,"
Your "Lilies all a-blowing!"
Your blossoms blue, still wet with dew,
"Sweet Violets all a-growing!"

Oh, happy were the days, methinks,
In truth the best of any;
When "Periwinkles, winkle, winks!"
Allured my last, lone penny.

Oh, what had I to do with cares
That bring the frown and furrow,
When "Walnuts" and "Fine mellow Pears"
Beat Catalani thorough.

Full dearly do I love "Old Cries,"
And always turn to hear them;
And though they cause me some few sighs,
Those sighs do but endear them.

My heart is like the fair sea-shell,
There's music ever in it;
Though bleak the shore where it may dwell,
Some power still lives to win it.

When music fills the shell no more,
'Twill be all crushed and scattered;
And when this heart's deep tone is o'er,
'Twill be all cold and shattered.

Oh, vain will be the hope to break
Its last and dreamless slumbers;
When "Old Cries" come, and fail to wake
Its deep and fairy numbers!

_Dust, O!--Dust, O!--Bring it out to day,
Bring it out to-day, I sha'n't be here to-mor-row!_

His noisy bell the dustman rings,
Her dust the housemaid gladly brings:
Ringing he goes from door to door,
Until his cart will hold no more.

Bring out your dust, the dustman cries,
Whilst ringing of his bell:
If the wind blows, pray guard your eyes,
To keep them clear and well.

I am very glad 'tis not my luck
To get my bread by carting muck;
I am sure I never could be made
To work at such a dirty trade.

Hold, my fine spark, not so fast,
Some proud folks get a fall at last;
And you, young gentleman, I say,
May be a Dustman, one fine day.

All working folks, who seldom play,
Yet get their bread in a honest way,
Though not to wealth or honours born,
Deserve respect instead of scorn.

Such rude contempt they merit less
Than those who live in idleness;
Who are less useful, I'm afraid,
Than I, the Dustman, am by trade.

Have pity, have pity on poor little birds,
Who only make music, and cannot sing words;
And think, when you listen, we mean by our strain,
O! let us fly home to our woodlands again.

Our dear woody coverts, and thickets so green,
Too close for the school-boy to rustle between;
No foot to alarm us, no sorrow, no rain,
O! let us fly home to our woodlands again.

There perched on the branches that wave to the wind,
No more in this pitiless prison confined,
How gaily we'll tune up our merriest strain,
If once we get home to our woodlands again.

Stooping o'er the ragged heath,
Thick with thorns and briers keen,
Or the weedy bank beneath,
Have I cut my rushes green;
While the broom and spiked thorn
Pearly drops of dew adorn.

Sometimes across the heath I wind,
Where scarce a human face is seen,
Wandering marshy spots to find,
Where to cut my rushes green;
Here and there, with weary tread,
Working for a piece of bread.

Then my little child and I
Plat and weave them, as you see;
Pray my lady, pray do buy,
You can't have better than of me;
For never, surely were there seen
Prettier mats of rushes green.

_I sweep your Chimnies clean, O,
Sweep your Chimney clean, O!_

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.

_Buy my Diddle Dumplings, hot! hot!
Diddle, diddle, diddle, Dumplings hot!_

This woman's in industry wise,
She lives near Butcher-row;
Each night round Temple-bar she plies,
With _Diddle Dumplings, ho!_

_Yorkshire Cakes, Who'll buy Yorkshire Cakes,
All piping hot--smoking hot! hot!!_

Fine Yorkshire Cakes; Who'll buy Yorkshire cakes?
They are all piping hot, and nicely made;
His daily walk this fellow takes,
And seems to drive a pretty trade.

_Buy my Flowers, sweet Flowers, new-cut Flowers,
New Flowers, sweet Flowers, fresh Flowers, O!_

New-cut Flowers this pretty maid doth cry,
In Spring, Summer and Autumn, gaily;
Which shows how fast the Seasons fly--
As we pass to our final home, daily.

_Buy green and large Cucumbers, Cucumbers,
Green and large Cucumbers, twelve a penny._

A penny a dozen, Cucumbers!
Tailors, hallo! hallo!
Now from the shop-board each man runs,
For Cucumbers below.

_Buy Rosemary! Buy Sweetbriar!
Rosemary and Sweetbriar, O!_

Rosemary and briar sweet,
This maiden now doth cry,
Through every square and street,
Come buy it sweet, come buy it dry.

_Newcastle Salmon! Dainty fine Salmon!
Dainty fine Salmon! Newcastle Salmon!_

Newcastle salmon, very good,
Is just come in for summer food;
No one hath better fish than I,
So if you've money come and buy.

_Buy my Cranberries! Fine Cranberries!
Buy my Cranberries! Fine Cranberries!_

Buy Cranberries, to line your crust,
In Lincolnshire they're grown;
Come buy, come buy, for sell I must
Three quarts for half-a-crown.

_Come buy my Walking-Sticks or Canes!
I've got them for the young or old._

How sloven like the school-boy looks,
Who daubs his books at play;
Give him a new one? No, adzooks!
Give him a Cane, I say.

_Buy my fine Gooseberries! Fine Gooseberries!
Three-pence a quart! Ripe Gooseberries!_

Ripe gooseberries in town you'll buy
As cheap as cheap can be;
Of many sorts you hear the cry;
Pray purchase, sir, of me!

_Pears for pies! Come feast your eyes!
Ripe Pears, of every size, who'll buy?_

Pears ripe, pears sound,
This woman cries all day;
Pears for pies, long or round,
Come buy them while you may.

_One a penny, two a penny, hot Cross Buns!
One a penny, two a penny, hot Cross Buns!_

Think on this sacred festival;
Think why Cross Buns were given;
Then think of Him who dy'd for all,
To give you right to Heaven.

_Maids, I mend old Pans or Kettles,
Mend old Pans or Kettles, O!_

Hark, who is this? the Tinker bold,
To mend or spoil your kettle,
Whose wife I'm certain is a scold,
Made of basest metal.

_Buy my Capers! Buy my nice Capers!
Buy my Anchovies! Buy my nice Anchovies!_

How melodious the voice of this man,
The Capers he says are the best;
His Anchovies too, beat 'em who can,
Are constantly found in request.

_Mulberries, all ripe and fresh to day!
Only a groat a pottle--full to the bottom!_

Mulberries, ripe and fresh to-day,
They warm and purify the blood;
Have them a groat a pottle you may.
They are all fresh! they are all good!

_Buy my Cockles! Fine new Cockles!
Cockles fine, and Cockles new!_

Cockles fine; and cockles new,
They are as fine as any.
Cockles! New cockles, O!
I sell a good lot for a penny, O!

_Buy fine Flounders! Fine Dabs! All alive, O!
Fine Dabs! Fine live Flounders, O!_

There goes a tall fish-woman sounding her cry,
"Who'll buy my fine flounders, and dabs, who'll buy?"
Poor flounder, he heaves up his fin with a sigh,
And thinks that _he_ has most occasion to cry;
"Ah, neighbour," says dab, "indeed, so do I."

_Buy my nice and new Banbury Cakes!
Buy my nice new Banbury Cakes, O!_

Buy Banbury Cakes! By fortune's frown,
You see this needy man,
Along the street, and up and down,
Is selling all he can.

_Buy my Lavender! Sweet blooming Lavender!
Sweet blooming Lavender! Blooming Lavender!_

Lavender! Sweet blooming lavender,
Six bunches for a penny to-day!
Lavender! sweet blooming lavender!
Ladies, buy it while you may.

_Live Mackerel! Three a-shilling, O!
Le'ping alive, O! Three a-shilling O!_

Live Mackerel, oh! fresh as the day!
At three for a shilling, is giving away;
Full row'd, like bright silver they shine;
Two persons on one can sup or dine.

_Buy my Shirt Buttons! Shirt Buttons!
Buy Shirt Hand Buttons! Buttons!_

At a penny a dozen, a dozen,
My Buttons for shirts I sell,
Come aunt, uncle, sister, and cousin,
I'll warrant I'll use you well.

_Buy my Rabbits! Rabbits, who'll buy?
Rabbit! Rabbit! who will buy?_

"Rabbit! Rabbit! who will buy?"
Is all you hear from him;
The Rabbit you may roast or fry,
The fur your cloak will trim.

_Buy Rue! Buy Sage! Buy Mint!
Buy Rue, Sage and Mint, a farthing a bunch!_

As thro' the fields she bends her way,
Pure nature's work discerning;
So you should practice every day,
To trace the fields of learning.

_Apple Tarts! All sweet and good, to-day!
Hot, nice, sweet and good, to-day!_

Apple Tarts! Apple Tarts! Tarts, I cry!
They are all of my own making,
My Apple Tarts! My Apple Tarts, come buy!
For, a honest penny I would be taking.

_Ripe Strawberries! a groat a pottle, to-day,
Only a groat a pottle, is what I say!_

Ripe strawberries, a full pottle for a groat!
They are all ripe and fresh gathered, as you see,
No finer for money I believe can be bought;
So I pray you come and deal fairly with me.

_Any Knives, or Scissors to grind, to-day?
Big Knives, or little Knives, or Scissors to grind, O!_

Any Knives or Scissors to grind, to-day?
I'll do them well and there's little to pay;
Any Knives or Scissors to grind, to-day?
If you've nothing for me, I'll go away.

_Door-Mat! Door-Mat, Buy a Door-Mat,
Rope-mat! Rope-Mat! Buy a Rope-Mat._

Rope Mat! Door Mat! you really must
Buy one to save the mud and dust;
Think of the dirt brought from the street
For the want of a Mat to wipe your feet.

_Clothes Props! Clothes Props! I say, good wives
Clothes Props, all long and very strong, to-day._

Buy Clothes Props, Buy Clothes Props!
Pretty maids, or pretty wives, I say,
I sell them half the price of the shops;
So you'll buy of the old man, I pray.

_Come take a Peep, boys, take a Peep?
Girls, I've the wonder of the world._

Come take a Peep, each lady and gent,
My Show is the best, I assure you;
You'll not have the least cause to repent,
For I'll strive all I can to allure you.

_Water Cresses! Fine Spring Water Cresses!
Three bunches a penny, young Water Cresses!_

Young Cresses, fresh, at breakfast taken
A relish will give to eggs and bacon!
My profit's small, for I put many
In bunches sold at three a penny

_Mutton Pies! Mutton Pies! Mutton Pies,
Come feast your eyes with my Mutton Pies._

Through London's long and busy streets,
This honest woman cries,
To every little boy she meets,
Who'll buy my Mutton Pies?

_Please to Pity the Poor Old Fiddler!
Pity the Poor Old Blind Fiddler!_

The poor old Fiddler goes his rounds,
Along with old Dog Tray;
The East of London mostly bounds
His journeys for the day.

_Muffins, O! Crumpets! Muffins, to-day!
Crumpets, O! Muffins, O! fresh, to-day!_

The Muffin Man! hark, I hear
His small bell tinkle shrill and clear;
Muffins and Crumpets nice he brings,
While on the fire the kettle sings.

_Oysters, fresh and alive, three a penny, O!
When they are all sold I sha'n't have any, O!_

They're all alive and very fine,
So if you like them, come and dine;
I'll find you bread and butter, too,
Or you may have them opened for a stew.

_Buy fine Kidney Potatoes! New Potatoes!
Fine Kidney Potatoes! Potatoes, O!_

Potatoes, oh! of kidney kind,
Come buy, and boil, and eat,
The core, and eke also, the rind,
They are indeed so sweet.

_Buy Images! Good and cheap!
Images, very good--very cheap!_

Come buy my image earthenware,
Your mantel pieces to bedeck,
Examine them with greatest care,
You will not find a single speck.

_Buy 'em by the stick, or buy'em by the pound,
Cherries ripe, all round and sound!_

Who such Cherries would see,
And not tempted be
To wish he possessed a small share?
But observe, I say small,
For those who want all
Deserve not to taste of such fare.

_Buy a Mop! Buy a Broom! Good to-day!
Buy a Broom! Buy a Mop, I say!_

Ye cleanly housewives come to me,
And buy a Mop or Broom,
To sweep your chambers, scour your stairs,
Or wash your sitting room.

_Golden Pippins, all of the right sort, girls!
Golden Pippins, all of the right sort, boys!_

Here are fine Golden Pippins;
Who'll buy them, who'll buy?
Nobody in London sells better than I!
Who'll buy them, who'll buy?

_Wash Ball, a Trinket, or a Watch, buy?
Buy 'em, all cheap and all good!_

Do ye want any Wash Ball or Patch.--
Dear ladies, pray, buy of me;--
Or Trinkets to hang at your Watch,
Or Garters to tie at your knee?

_Past twelve o'clock, and a cloudy morning!
Past twelve o'clock; and mind, I give you warning!_

Past twelve o'clock, and a moonlight night!
Past twelve o'clock, and the stars shine bright!
Past twelve o'clock, your doors are all fast like you!
Past twelve o'clock, and I'll soon be fast, too!

_Young Lambs to sell! Young Lambs to sell!
Young Lambs to sell! Young Lambs to sell!_

Young Lambs to sell! Young Lambs to sell!
Two a penny, Young Lambs to sell;
If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I wouldn't cry young Lambs to sell.

_Buy my sweet and rare Lilies of the Valley?
Buy of your Sally--Sally of our Alley?_

In London street, I ne'er could find,
A girl like lively Sally,
Who picks and culls, and cries aloud,
Sweet Lilies of the Valley.

_Buy my young chickens! Buy'em alive, O!
Buy of the Fowlman, and have 'em alive, O!_

Buy my young Chickens, or a Fowl, well-fed,
And we'll not quarrel about the price;
'Tis thus I get my daily bread:
As all the year round my Fowls are very nice.

_Green Peas, I say! Green Peas, I say, here,
Hav'em at your own price--here! here!_

Sixpence a peck, these Peas are sold,
Fresh and green, and far from old;
Green Marrows, it is quite clear,
And as times go, cannot be dear.

_Hat Box! Cap Box! Boxes, all sizes;
All good, and at very low prices._

Hat or Cap Box! for ribbons or lace,
When in a Box, keep in their place;
And in a Box, your favourite bonnet
Is safe from getting things thrown on it.

_Eels, fine Silver Eels! Dutch Eels!
They are all alive--Silver Eels!_

Eels, alive! fine Dutch eels, I cry,
Mistress, to use you well I'm willing,
Come step forth and buy--
Take four pounds for one shilling.

_Plumbs, ripe Plumbs! Big as your thumbs!
Plumbs! Plumbs! Big as your thumbs!_

Plumbs, for puddings or pies,
This noisy woman bawls;
Plumbs, for puddings or pies,
In every street she calls.

_Buy a Purse; a long and a strong Purse!
A good leather or a strong mole-skin Purse!_

Buy a Purse; a long and strong Purse,
They'll suit the young--they suit the old!
To lose good money, what is worse?
Yet it's daily done for the want of a purse.

_Kettles to mend! any Pots to mend?
Daily I say as my way I wend._

Kettles to mend! any pots to mend!
You cannot do better to me than send;
Think of the mess when the saucepans run,
The fire put out, and the dinner not done.

My daddy was a tinker's son,
And I'm his boy, 'tis ten to one,
Here's pots to mend! was still his cry,
Here's pots to mend! aloud bawl I.
Have ye any tin pots, kettles or cans,
Coppers to solder, or brass pans?
Of wives my dad had near a score,
And I have twice as many more:
My daddy was the lord--I don't know who--
With his:--
Tan ran tan, tan ran tan tan,
For pot or can, oh! I'm your man.

Once I in my budget snug had got
A barn-door capon, and what not,
Here's pots to mend! I cried along--
Here's pots to mend! was my song.
At village wake--oh! curse his throat,
The cock crowed so loud a note,
The folks in clusters flocked around,
They seized my budget, in it found
The cock, a gammon, peas and beans,
Besides a jolly tinker. Yes, a jolly tinker--
With his--
Tan ran tan, tan ran tan tan,
For pot or can, oh! I'm your man.

Like dad, when I to quarters come,
For want of cash the folks I hum,
Here's kettles to mend: Bring me some beer!
The landlord cries, "You'll get none here!
You tink'ring dog, pay what you owe,
Or out of doors you'll instant go,"
In rage I squeezed him 'gainst the door,
And with his back rubb'd off the score.
At his expense we drown all strife
For which I praise the landlord's wife--
With my
Tan ran tan, tan ran tan tan,
For pot or can, oh! I'm your man.

_Fine China Oranges, sweet as sugar!
They are very fine, and cheap, too, to-day._

If friends permit, and money suits,
The tempting purchase make;
But, first, examine well the fruit,
And then the change you take.

Here are Oranges, fine ripe Oranges,
Of golden colour to the eye,
And fragrant perfume they're dispensing,
Sweeter than roses; come then and buy.
Flowers cannot give forth the fragrance
That scents the air from my golden store,
Fairest lady, none can excel them,
Buy then my Oranges; buy, I implore.