Simultaneously with this movement of the University towards independence of the monks, there had been the inevitable contests of all university towns between "gown's-men" and "town's-men." Cambridge had never been a city of any great commercial importance. But it had its "unlearned population" engaged in connection with the fisheries, farming, and the pastoral industry. Near by, the great Stourbridge Fair--one of the most important in England--brought every year a great concourse of people with little sympathy to spare for the University students, who, in turn, despised them (or affected to) right heartily, though probably among the younger students there was a lurking sympathy for the jollity of the fairs, a good impression of which one may get from a quaint old ballad of 1762:-- While gentlefolks strut in their silver and sattins, We poor folks are tramping in straw hats and pattens; Yet as merrily old English ballads can sing-o, As they at their opperores outlandish ling-o; Calling out, bravo, ankcoro, and caro, Tho'f I will sing nothing but Bartlemew fair-o. Here was, first of all, crowds against other crowds driving, Like wind and tide meeting, each contrary striving; Shrill fiddling, sharp fighting, and shouting and shrieking, Fifes, trumpets, drums, bagpipes, and barrow girls squeaking, Come my rare round and sound, here's choice of fine ware-o, Though all was not sound sold at Bartlemew fair-o. There was drolls, hornpipe dancing, and showing of postures, With frying black-puddings; and op'ning of oysters; With salt-boxes solos, and gallery folks squalling; The tap-house guests roaring, and mouth-pieces bawling, Pimps, pawn-brokers, strollers, fat landladies, sailors, Bawds, bailiffs, jilts, jockies, thieves, tumblers, and taylors. Here's Punch's whole play of the gun-powder plot, Sir, With beasts all alive, and pease-porridge all hot, Sir; Fine sausages fry'd, and the black on the wire, The whole court of France, and nice pig at the fire. Here's the up-and-downs; who'll take a seat in the chair-o? Tho' there's more ups-and-downs than at Bartlemew fair-o. Here's Whittington's cat, and the tall dromedary, The chaise without horses, and queen of Hungary; Here's the merry-go-rounds, come, who rides, come, who rides, Sir? Wine, beer, ale, and cakes, fine eating besides, Sir; The fam'd learned dog that can tell all his letters, And some men, as scholars, are not much his betters. This world's a wide fair, where we ramble 'mong gay things; Our passions, like children, are tempted by play-things; By sound and by show, by trash and by trumpery, The fal-lals of fashion and Frenchify'd frumpery. What is life but a droll, rather wretched than rare-o? And thus ends the ballad of Bartlemew fair-o.