The Pedlar’S Caravan

I wish I lived in a caravan, With a horse to drive, like a pedlar-man! Where he comes from nobody knows, Or where he goes to, but on he goes!

His caravan has windows two, And a chimney of tin, that the smoke comes through; He has a wife, with a baby brown, And they go riding from town to town.

Chairs to mend, and delf to sell! He clashes the basins like a bell; Tea-trays, baskets ranged in order, Plates, with alphabets round the border!

The roads are brown, and the sea is green, But his house is like a bathing-machine; The world is round, and he can ride, Rumble and slash, to the other side!

With the pedlar-man I should like to roam, And write a book when I came home; All the people would read my book, Just like the Travels of Captain Cook!