The Hawker's Pot Song.

(For what is a website without a song?)

The hawker’s pot is full tonight,
The moon rides high, the tides delay.
As gay as larks, as wild as hawks!
The hawker rides the old high way.


The hawker travels down the lanes
Where farm dogs growl beneath the trees.
He has sharp words, the dogs sharp teeth,
The hawker finds it best to leave.


The hawker walks long paths by night
And blows his nail and blows his horn.
He hawks his wares, but where’s his hawk?
It rides the ancient airs forlorn.


The hawker’s pot is full tonight.
(Cry fol-de-rol for what is not!)
As wild as larks, as gay as hawks!
(All in, all in, the hawker’s pot!)


*For further information concerning the Hawker figure in the folksongs of Dorsetshire and the mysterious identity of his Pot, see the pamphlet by Percival Tredinnick: The Hawker figure in the folksongs of Dorsetshire and the mysterious identity of his Pot (collected in the Transactions of the Worshipful Company of Hawkers and Potters, To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day, To my Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh; Beaminster, 1973)