John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife, O’erjoy’d he was to find She had a frugal mind. But yet was not allow'd say that she was proud. So three doors off the chaise was stay'd, Where they did all get in, Six precious souls, and all agog To dash through thick and thin. Were never folk so glad, As if Cheapside were mad. Seized fast the flowing mane, But soon came down again. His journey to begin, Three customers come in. Although it grieved him sore, Would trouble him much more. 'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, “ The wine is left behind !” “Good lack !” quoth he, "yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, When I do exercise." Had two stone bottles found, And keep it safe and sound. Through which the belt he drew. And hung a bottle on each side To make his balance true. Then over all, that he might be Equipp'd from top to toe, He manfully did throw. Upon his nimble steed, With caution and good heed. Beneath his well-shod feet, Which gall’d him in his seat. But John he cried in vain, In spite of curb and rein. Who cannot sit upright, a His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before, Did wonder more and more. Away went hat and wig, Of running such a rig. Like streamer long and gay, away. The bottles he had slung, As hath been said or sung. Up flew the windows all, And every soul cried out, " Well done!” As loud as he could bawl. Away went Gilpin—who but he ? His fame soon spread around“He carries weight ! he rides a race! 'Tis for a thousand pound !” And still as fast as he drew near, 'Twas wonderful to view How in a trice the turnpike-men Their gates wide open threw. His reeking head full low, Were shatter'd at a blow. Down ran the wine into the road, Most piteous to be seen, As they had basted been. With leathern girdle brac'd, Still dangling at his waist. Thus all through merry Islington These gambols he did play, Of Edmonton so gay. On both sides of the way, Or a wild-goose at play. From the balcony spied To see how he did ride. “Stop, stop, John Gilpin !-here's the house" They all at once did cry, Said Gilpin—“ So am I.” Inclined to tarry there, Full ten miles off, at Ware. Shot by an archer strong, The middle of my song. Away went Gilpin, out of breath, And sore against his will, The horse at last stood still. His neighbour in such trim, And thus accosted him 66 What news ? what news ? your tidings tell, Tell me you must and shall- Or why you come at all ? ” And loved a timely joke, And thus unto the Callender In merry guise he spoke“I came because your horse would come; And if I well forbode, They are upon the road.” His friend in merry pin, But to the house went in. A wig that flow'd behind, Each comely in its kind. Thus show'd his ready wit, They therefore needs must fit. |