Here's fine rosemary, sage and thyme. Come and buy my ground ivy. Here's fetherfew, gilliflowers, and rue. Come buy my knotted marjorum ho! Come buy my mint, my fine green mint. Here's lavender for your cloaths, Here's parsley and winter savory, And heartsease which all do choose. Here's balm and hissop and cinquefoil, All fine herbs, it is well known. Let none despise the merry, merry wives Of famous London town. Here's pennyroyal and marygolds, Come buy my nettle-tops. Here's watercresses and scurvy grass. Come buy my sage of virtue, ho! Come buy my wormwood and mugwort. Here's all fine herbs of every sort, And southernwood that's very good, Dandelion and horseleek. Here's dragon's tongue and horehound. Let none despise the merry, merry wives Of famous London town. Less characteristic is an old undated penny ballad from which we cull the following lines:-- Wood, three bundles a penny, all dried deal; Now, who'll buy a good flint or steel? Buy a walking stick, a good ash stump; Hearthstone, pretty maids, a penny a lump. Fine mackrel; penny a plateful sprats; Dog's meat, marm, to feed your cats? The cry of Saloop, a favourite drink of the young bloods of a hundred and fifty years back, conveys no meaning to the present generation. Considered as a sovereign cure for drunkenness, and pleasant withal, saloop, first sold at street corners, where it was consumed principally about the hour of midnight, eventually found its way into the coffee houses. The ingredients used in the preparation of this beverage were of several kinds--sassafras, and plants of the genus known by the simplers as cuckoo-flowers, being the principal among them. Saloop finally disappeared some five and twenty years ago. The watchman cried the time every half hour. In addition to a lantern and rattle, he was armed with a stout stick. T. L. Busby, who in 1819 illustrated "The Costumes of the Lower Orders of London," tells us that in March the watchman began his rounds at eight in the evening, and finished them at six in the morning. From April to September his hours were from ten till five; and from November to the end of February, twelve till seven. During the darkest months there was an extra watch from six to twelve, and extra patrols of sergeants walked over the beats at intervals. One of London's best known characters, the Waterman, does not appear to have adopted a cry; or, if he did, no mention of it can be found. But a correspondent of _Notes and Queries_ (5th S. I. May 2, 1874) says: "I heard this verse of a very old (waterman's) song from a very old gentleman on the occasion of the last overflow of the Thames:-- "'Twopence to London Bridge, threepence to the Strand, Fourpence, Sir, to Whitehall Stairs, or else you'll go by land.'" The point of departure, however, is not given.