Songs of Old London

Hark! the merry bells do ring,
"Wake! it is the first of Spring!
Laughter is the only thing!
Ding-a-dong, ding, ding!"

Down the street on joyful wing,
On the wind those bells do sing
Music fit for any king!
"Ding-a-dong, ding, ding!"

London Town, I fear you bring
To our hearts much sorrowing;
But dark thoughts away we fling,
When they gaily sway and swing,
When the merry bells do ring,
"Wake! it is the first of Spring!
Laughter is the only thing!
Ding-a-dong, ding, ding!"

Oh! buy, oh! buy my strawberries,
    In London Town to-day,
Fair ladies, kindly heed them,
    As you pass on your way!
They're fresh and good and scented,
    The finest ever seen,
And set in dainty splendour
    On leaves all moist and green!

         Ripe strawberries!  Ripe strawberries!
         Buy, buy, buy a little basket,
         Neat and round, a penny a pound!
         Dear ladies, I ask it!
         Rosy and many,
         Sweeter than any,
         All for a penny,
         Ripe strawberries! Oh! buy,!

From Islington's fair gardens
    Before the morn was red,
I picked these lovely strawberries,
    All from a dewy bed.
Oh! buy them , pretty ladies,
    Each one of summer speaks,
They'll paint the blushing roses
    Upon your children's cheeks!

         Ripe strawberries!  Ripe strawberries! etc.

When Lady Betty walks abroad,
By all who see her she's adored,
    At Vauxhall in the morning;
The very stones are proud to bear
A burden that's so light and fair,
    At Vauxhall in the morning.
Buy none do love her more than I,
When her sweet presence wanders by,
The sun breaks through the leaden sky
    At Vauxhall in the morning!

There are roses fair at Chelsea, there are daffies down at Kew,
And the primrose many a Richmond lane's adorning,
    But the flower I hold most sweet,
    Is the blossom that I meet
Down Vauxhall way upon a summer morning!

When Lady Betty passes by,
I strive to catch her bright blue eye,
    At Vauxhall in the morning;
And when I think she smiles at me
In Paradise I seem to be,
    Not Vauxhall way that morning!
Oh may life's skies on her ne'er frown,
Her days be glad, of fair renown,
Without her, sad were London Town
    At Vauxhall in the morning!

There are roses fair at Chelsea, etc.

When day had flown, when work was done,
And o'er the city set the sun,
Then folks to Lincoln's Inn would stray,
And sit among the shadows gray;
And there while shone the moonbeams pale,
They listened to the nightingale;
Oh! happy days, for it was so,
Two hundred weary years ago!
     Ah!

And if some June you chance to stray
Through Lincoln's Inn at close of day,
Then sit beneath some tall old tree,
Forgetting all sad things that be;
And in a dream perchance you'll hear
Glad memory's nightingales sing clear,
Sweet songs that used to wake and flow,
Two hundred weary years ago!
     Ah!

Here's a rabble, here's a rout,
Here's a merry song and shout,
Here's a crown down every way,
At Islington on May-day!
Lassies young in charming frocks,
Farmer boys in caps and smocks,
London lads whose work is done,
One and all just out for fun.
Seeking all a day of leisure,
Hours of mirth and love's sweet treasure,
Filling high life's cup of pleasure
    At Islington on May-day!

Some come to the Fair with a hey down derry O!
Life's a song that is blithe and merry O!
Step it out with a hey ho nonny no!
Choose a lass that is young and bonny O!
    Leave afar your care and pain,
    All dark thoughts and dreams disdain,
    Greet the merry spring again,
    At Islington on May-day!

Here's a rabble, here's a shout,
What's the happy throng about?
Here's a lad with frowning face,
Duck him in the pond apace!
Here's a gipsy who foretells,
If you've money, wedding bells!
There is Parson Jack you see,
Rush him round the Maypole tree!
All the world a Fair is seeming,
Golden skies above are gleaming,
Life's a dream that's worth the dreaming
    At Islington on May-day!