The twelfth and last is a woman with a basket of Venice Glasses, such as a modern collector would give a great deal to get hold of:—

“Come glasses, glasses, fine glasses buy;
Fine glasses o’ the best I call and cry.
Fine Venice-glasses,—no chrystal more clear,
Of all forms and fashions buy glasses here,
Black pots for good ale I also do cry;
Come therefore quickly before I pass by.”

In the same collection, is a series of three plates, “Part of the Cries in London,” evidently belonging to the same set, though only one has got a title. Each plate contains thirty-six criers, with the addition of a principal “Crier” in the centre. These were evidently executed abroad, as late, perhaps, as the reign of Charles II. No. 1 (with the title page) is ornamented in the centre with the “Rat-Catcher,” carrying an emblazoned banner of rats, and attended by a boy. The leather investment of the rat-catcher of the present day is a pleasant memorial of the banner of the past. Beneath the rat-catcher, the following lines occur:—

“Hee that wil have neither
Ratt nor Mowssee
Lett him pluck of the tillies
And set fire of his hows.”

Proving, evidently that the rat-catcher courted more to his banner than his poetry. Then follow the thirty-six cries, some of which, it will be seen, are extremely curious. The names are given beneath the cuts, but without any verse or peculiarity of cry.

Cooper Alminake Olde Iron
Ende of Golde Coonie skine Aqua vitæ
Olde Dublets Mussels Pens and Ink
Blackinge man Cabeches Olde Bellows
Tinker Kitchen stuff Herrings
Pippins Glasses Buy any Milke
Bui a Matte Cockels Piepin Pys
Cooles Hartti chaks Osters
Chimnie swepes Mackrill Shades
Bui Brumes Oranges, Lemens Turneps
Camphires Lettice Rosmarie Baie
Cherry ripe Place Onions.

“Haie ye any work for John Cooper?” is the title of one of the Martin Marprelate pamphlets. “Haie ye ani gold ends to sell?” is mentioned as a “cry,” in “Pappe with a Hatchet” (cir. 1589). “Camphires,” means Samphires. The “Alminake” man has completely gone, and “Old Dublets” has degenerated into “Ogh Clo,” a “cry” which teased Coleridge for a time, and occasioned a ludicrous incident, which we had reserved for a place somewhat later in our history, had not “Old Dublets” brought it, not inopportunely, to mind. “The other day,” said Coleridge, “I was what you would call floored by a Jew. He passed me several times crying out for old clothes, in the most nasal and extraordinary tone I ever heard. At last I was so provoked, that I said to him, ‘Pray, why can’t you say ‘old clothes’ in a plain way, as I do?’ The Jew stopped, and looking very gravely at me, said in a clear and even accent, ‘Sir, I can say ‘old clothes’ as well as you can; but if you had to say so ten times a minute, for an hour together, you would say Ogh Clo as I do now;’ and so he marched off.” Coleridge was so confounded with the justice of the retort that he followed and gave him a shilling—the only one he had.

The principal figure on the second plate is the “Bellman,” with dog, bell, halberd, and lanthorns. His “cry” is curious, though we have had it almost in the same form before, at [page 56]:—

“Mayds in your Smocks, Looke
Wel to your lock—your fire
And your light, and God
Give you good night. At
One a Clock.”

The cries around him deserve transcription:—