“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