“Time you old gypsy man,
Will you not stay,
Put up your caravan
Just for one day?
All things I’ll give you
Will you be my guest,
Bells for your jennet
Of silver the best,
Goldsmiths shall beat you
A golden ring.
Peacocks shall bow to
Little boys sing,
Oh, and sweet girls will
Festoon you with May.
Time you old gypsy,
Why hasten away?”
by Halph Hodgson