Spra Coupe EU 4460 4660 Sprayer

Service Manual_79034247B
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DescriptionSpra Coupe EU 4460 4660 Sprayer Service Manual_79034247BSize:
106 MBFormat : PDFLanguage : EnglishBrand: Spra-CoupeType of machine:
SprayerType of document: Service ManualModel: Spra Coupe EU 4460 4660
SprayerDate Modified: 10/2011Part Number: 79034247B
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 Potatoes, Kidney Potatoes.

Potatoes, oh! of kidney kind,

Come buy, and boil, and eat,
The core, and eke also, the rind,
They are indeed so sweet.

Buy Images! Good and cheap!

Images, very good—very cheap!
 Buy my Images, Images.

Come buy my image earthenware,

Your mantel pieces to bedeck,
Examine them with greatest care,
You will not find a single speck.

Buy ’em by the stick, or buy’em by the pound,

Cherries ripe, all round and sound!
All round and sound, my Ripe Kentish Cherries.

Who such Cherries would see,

And not tempted be
To wish he possessed a small share?
But observe, I say small,
For those who want all
Deserve not to taste of such fare.

Buy a Mop! Buy a Broom! Good to-day!

Buy a Broom! Buy a Mop, I say!
 Buy a Mop or a Broom.

Ye cleanly housewives come to me,

And buy a Mop or Broom,
To sweep your chambers, scour your stairs,
Or wash your sitting room.

Golden Pippins, all of the right sort, girls!

Golden Pippins, all of the right sort, boys!
 Golden Pippins, Who’ll Buy?

Here are fine Golden Pippins;

Who’ll buy them, who’ll buy?
Nobody in London sells better than I!
Who’ll buy them, who’ll buy?

Wash Ball, a Trinket, or a Watch, buy?

Buy ’em, all cheap and all good!
 Wash Ball, Trinket, or Watch.

Do ye want any Wash Ball or Patch.—

Dear ladies, pray, buy of me;—
Or Trinkets to hang at your Watch,
Or Garters to tie at your knee?

Past twelve o’clock, and a cloudy morning!

Past twelve o’clock; and mind, I give you warning!
 The City Watchman.

Past twelve o’clock, and a moonlight night!

Past twelve o’clock, and the stars shine bright!
Past twelve o’clock, your doors are all fast like you!
Past twelve o’clock, and I’ll soon be fast, too!

Young Lambs to sell! Young Lambs to sell!

Young Lambs to sell! Young Lambs to sell!
 Young Lambs to Sell.

Young Lambs to sell! Young Lambs to sell!

Two a penny, Young Lambs to sell;
If I’d as much money as I could tell,
I wouldn’t cry young Lambs to sell.

Buy my sweet and rare Lilies of the Valley?

Buy of your Sally—Sally of our Alley?
 Lilies of the Valley.

In London street, I ne’er could find,

A girl like lively Sally,
Who picks and culls, and cries aloud,
Sweet Lilies of the Valley.

Buy my young chickens! Buy’em alive, O!

Buy of the Fowlman, and have ’em alive, O!
 Buy Chickens, Young Chickens.

Buy my young Chickens, or a Fowl, well-fed,

And we’ll not quarrel about the price;
’Tis thus I get my daily bread:
As all the year round my Fowls are very nice.

Green Peas, I say! Green Peas, I say, here,

Hav’em at your own price—here! here!
 Green Peas! Buy my Green Peas?

Sixpence a peck, these Peas are sold,

Fresh and green, and far from old;
Green Marrows, it is quite clear,
And as times go, cannot be dear.

Hat Box! Cap Box! Boxes, all sizes;

All good, and at very low prices.
 Hat-Box; Cap Box.

Hat or Cap Box! for ribbons or lace,

When in a Box, keep in their place;
And in a Box, your favourite bonnet
Is safe from getting things thrown on it.

Eels, fine Silver Eels! Dutch Eels!

They are all alive—Silver Eels!
 Eels; fine Dutch Eels.

Eels, alive! fine Dutch eels, I cry,

Mistress, to use you well I’m willing,
Come step forth and buy—
Take four pounds for one shilling.

Plumbs, ripe Plumbs! Big as your thumbs!

Plumbs! Plumbs! Big as your thumbs!
 Plumbs; ripe Plumbs.

Plumbs, for puddings or pies,

This noisy woman bawls;
Plumbs, for puddings or pies,
In every street she calls.

Buy a Purse; a long and a strong Purse!

A good leather or a strong mole-skin Purse!
 Buy a Purse.

Buy a Purse; a long and strong Purse,

They’ll suit the young—they suit the old!
To lose good money, what is worse?
Yet it’s daily done for the want of a purse.

Kettles to mend! any Pots to mend?

Daily I say as my way I wend.
 Kettles or Pots to Mend!

Kettles to mend! any pots to mend!

You cannot do better to me than send;
Think of the mess when the saucepans run,
The fire put out, and the dinner not done.

The Jolly Tinker.

My daddy was a tinker’s son,
And I’m his boy, ’tis ten to one,
Here’s pots to mend! was still his cry,
Here’s pots to mend! aloud bawl I.
Have ye any tin pots, kettles or cans,
Coppers to solder, or brass pans?
Of wives my dad had near a score,
And I have twice as many more:
My daddy was the lord—I don’t know who—
With his:—
Tan ran tan, tan ran tan tan,
For pot or can, oh! I’m your man.

Once I in my budget snug had got

A barn-door capon, and what not,
Here’s pots to mend! I cried along—
Here’s pots to mend! was my song.
At village wake—oh! curse his throat,
The cock crowed so loud a note,
The folks in clusters flocked around,
They seized my budget, in it found
The cock, a gammon, peas and beans,
Besides a jolly tinker. Yes, a jolly tinker—
With his—
Tan ran tan, tan ran tan tan,
For pot or can, oh! I’m your man.

Like dad, when I to quarters come,

For want of cash the folks I hum,
Here’s kettles to mend: Bring me some beer!
The landlord cries, “You’ll get none here!
You tink’ring dog, pay what you owe,
Or out of doors you’ll instant go,”
In rage I squeezed him ’gainst the door,
And with his back rubb’d off the score.
At his expense we drown all strife
For which I praise the landlord’s wife—
With my
Tan ran tan, tan ran tan tan,
For pot or can, oh! I’m your man.

Fine China Oranges, sweet as sugar!

They are very fine, and cheap, too, to-day.

Fine China Oranges.

If friends permit, and money suits,

The tempting purchase make;
But, first, examine well the fruit,
And then the change you take.
 Fine ripe Oranges

Here are Oranges, fine ripe Oranges,

Of golden colour to the eye,
And fragrant perfume they’re dispensing,
Sweeter than roses; come then and buy.
Flowers cannot give forth the fragrance
That scents the air from my golden store,
Fairest lady, none can excel them,
Buy then my Oranges; buy, I implore.

Here are Oranges, fine ripe Oranges,

Golden globes of nectar fine,
Luscious juice the gods might envy,
Richer far than the finest wine.
Flowers cannot give forth the fragrance
That scents the air from my golden store,
Fairest lady, none can excel them,
Buy then my Oranges; buy, I implore.

Round for Four Voices.

 Sir. J. Stevenson.

Come buy my cherries, beauteous lasses;

Fresh from the garden pluck’d by me;
All on a summer’s day, so gay,
You hear the London Cries—“Knives ground here by me.”

Fine apples and choice pears,

Eat, boys, forget your cares;
All on a summer’s day, so gay,
You hear the London Cries—“Sweep, sweep, sweep.”

Fruit in abundance sold by me,

Fruit in abundance here you see;
All on a summer’s day, so gay,
You hear the London Cries—“Parsnips, carrots, and choice beans.”

Whey, fine sweet whey,

Come taste my whey;
All on a summer’s day, so gay,
You hear the London Cries—“Fine radish, fine lettuce, sold by me.”

Primroses.

Come who’ll buy my roses, Primroses, who’ll buy?

They are sweet to the sense, they are fair to the eye;
They are covered all o’er with diamond dew,
Which Aurora’s bright handmaids unsparingly threw
On their beautiful heads: and I ask but of you—
To buy, buy, buy, buy.

The sun kiss’d the flowers as he rose from the sea bright,
And their golden eyes opened with beauty and glee bright,
Their sweets are untasted by hornet or bee—