ht people well discern
The bottles he had slung,
A bottle swinging at each side,
As had been said or sung,
The dogs did bark, the children scream'd,
Up flew the windows all,
And ev'ry 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 flew.

And now as he went bowing down
His reeking head full low,
The bottles twain behind his back
Were shatter'd at a blow;
Down ran the wine into the road,
Most piteous to be seen,
Which made his horses flanks to smoke,
As they had basted been.

But still he seemed to carry weight,
With leathern girdle braced,
For all might see the bottle-necks
Still dangling at his waist;
Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols did he play,
And till he came into the Wash
Of Edmonton so gay.

And there he threw the wash about
On both sides of the way,
Just like unto a trundling mop,
Or a wild goose at play.
At Edmonton his loving wife
From the balcony spied
Her tender husband, wond'ring much
To see how he did ride.

Stop, stop, John Gilpin!--Here's the house--
They all at once did cry,
The dinner waits, and we are tired--
Said Gilpin--So am I;
But yet this horse was not a whit
Inclined to tarry there--
For why? His owner had a house
Full ten miles off, at Ware.

So, like an arrow, swift he flew,
Shot by an archer strong;
So did he fly--which brings me to
The middle of my song.
Away went Gilpin, out of breath,
And sore against his will,
Till at his friend the Calender's
His horse at last stood still.

The Calender, amazed to see
His neighbour in such trim,
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,
And thus accosted him:--
What news? what news? your tidings tell!
Tell me you must and shall--
Say why bare-headed you are come,
Or why you come at all?

Now, Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And loved a timely joke,
And thus unto the Calender,
In merry guise he spoke--
I came because your horse would come,
And if I well forbode,
My hat and wig will soon be here,
They are upon the road.

The Calender, right glad to find