The Pedlar's Caravan
I wish I lived in a caravan,
With a horse to drive, like the 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, and 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 the alphabet round the border.
The roads are brown, and the sea is green,
But his house is just like a bathing machine;
The world is round, but he can ride,
Rumble, and splash to the other side.
With the pedlar-man I should like to roam,
And write a book when I come home.
All the people would read my book,
Just like the Travels of Captain Cook.