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He held them up, and in his turn
Thus show'd his ready wit-
They therefore needs must fit.
But let me scrape the dirt away
That hangs upon your face;
Be in a hungry case.
Said John, it is my wedding-day,
And all the world would stare, If wife should dine at Edmonton,
And I should dine at Ware.
So turning to his horse, he said,
I am in haste to dine; 'Twas for your pleasure you came here,
You shall go back for mine.
Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast!
For which he paid full dear;
Did sing most loud and clear;
Whereat his horse did snort, as he
Had heard a lion roar,
As he had done before.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went Gilpin's hat and wig:
For why ?—they were too big.
Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw
Her husband posting down Into the country far away,
She pulld out balf a crown;
And thus unto the youth she said,
That drove them to the Bell, This shall be yours, when you bring back
My husband safe and well.
The youth did ride, and soon did meet
John coming back amain; Whom in a trice he tried to stop,
By catching at his rein :
But not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
And made him faster run.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went postboy at his heels,
The lumbering of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road,
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
They raised the hue and cry:
Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman!
Not one of them was mute; And all and each that pass'd that way
Did join in the pursuit.
And now the turnpike gates again
Flew open in short space;
That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;
He did again get down.
Now let us sing, long live the king,
And Gilpin, long live he;
May I be there to see!
THE YEARLY DISTRESS;
TITHING-TIME AT STOCK IN ESSEX.
Verses addressed to a Country Clergyman, complaining
of the disagreeableness of the Day annually appointed for receiving the Dues at the Parsonage.
Come, ponder well, for 'tis no jest,
To laugh it would be wrong ;
The burden of my song.
The priest he merry is and blithe
Three quarters of the year,
When tithing-time draws near.
He then is full of frights and fears,
As one at point to die,
He heaves up many a sigh.
For then the farmers come, jog, jog,
Along the miry road,
To make their payments good.
In sooth, the sorrow of such days
Is not to be express'd,
Are both alike distress d.
Now all unwelcome at his gates
The clumsy swains alight,
He trembles at the sight.
And well he may, for well he knows
Each bumpkin of the clan, Instead of paying what he owes,
Will cheat him if he can.
So in they come-each makes his leg,
And flings his head before, And looks as if he came to beg,
And not to quit a score.
And how does miss and madam do,
The little boy and all ? · All tight and well. And how do you,
Good Mr. What-d'ye-call?