The orange-woman who carried the golden fruit through every street and alley, with the musical cry of:--"_Fine Oranges and Lemons_," lasted for a century or two. Then the orange-woman became, as everything else became, a more prosaic person as she approached our own times. She was a barrow-woman at the end of the last century: and Porson has thus described her:-- "As I walked through the Strand, so cheerful and gay, I met a young girl a-wheeling a barrow; 'Fine fruit, sir,' says she, 'and a bill of the play.'" The transformation was the same with the strawberry and cherry-women. From the "Collection of Ancient Songs and Ballads, written on various subjects, and printed between the years MDLX. and MDCC." in the British Museum, and now known as the ROXBURGHE BALLADS, we take the ballad of:-- THE CRIES OF LONDON. Tune--_The Merry Christ-church Bells_. Hark! how the cries in every street Make lanes and allies ring: With their goods and ware, both nice and rare, All in a pleasant lofty strain; Come buy my gudgeons fine and new. Old cloaths to change for earthen ware, Come taste and try before you buy, Here's dainty poplin pears. Diddle, diddle, diddle dumplins, ho! With walnuts nice and brown. Let none despise the merry, merry cries Of famous London town. Any old cloaths, suits, or coats. Come buy my singing birds. Oranges or lemons. Newcastle salmon. Come buy my ropes of onions, ho! Come buy my sand, fine silver sand. Two bunches a penny, turnips, ho! I'll change you pins for coney-skins. Maids, do you want any milk below? Here's an express from Admiral Hawke, The Admiral of renown. Let none despise the merry, merry cries Of famous London town. Maids, have you any kitchen stuff? Will you buy fine artichoaks? Come buy my brooms to sweep your rooms. Will you buy my white-heart cabbages, ho! Come buy my nuts, my fine small nuts, Two cans a penny, crack and try. Here's cherries round, and very sound. Maids, shall I sweep your chimnies high? Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, goes the tinker's pan, With a merry cheerful sound. Let none despise the merry, merry cries Of famous London town. Here's fine herrings, eight a groat. Hot codlins, pies and tarts. New mackerel I have to sell. Come buy my Wellfleet oysters, ho! Come buy my whitings fine and new. Wives, shall I mend your husbands' horns? I'll grind your knives to please your wives, And very nicely cut your corns. Maids, have you any hair to sell. Either flaxen, black, or brown? Let none despise the merry, merry cries Of famous London town.