'Twas long before the customers

Were fuited to their mind, When Betty screaming came down ftairs, "The wine is left behind."

Good lack! quoth he, yet bring it me,
My leathern belt likewise

In which I bear my trusty sword
When I do exercise.

.Now Mistress Gilpin, careful foul,
Had two stone bottles found,
To hold the liquor that the loved,
And keep it fafe and found.

Each bottle had a curling ear,

Through which the belt he drew, And hung a bottle on each fide

To make his balance true.

Then

Then over all, that he might be
Equipp'd from top to toe,

His long red cloak well brush'd and neat,
He manfully did throw.

Now fee him mounted once again
Upon his nimble steed,

Full flowly pacing o'er the stones
With caution and good heed.

But finding foon a fmoother road
Beneath his well-fhod feet,
The fnorting beaft began to trot,
Which gall'd him in his feat.

So, Fair and foftly, John he cried,
But John he cried in vain,
That trot became a gallop foon
In fpite of curb and rein

So

So ftooping down, as needs he must
Who cannot fit upright,

He grafp'd the mane with both his hands
And eke with all his might.

His horfe, who never in that fort
Had handled been before,
What thing upon his back had got
Did wonder more and more.

Away went Gilpin neck or nought,
Away went hat and wig,

He little dreamt when he fet out

Of running fuch a rig.

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
Like ftreamer long and gay,
'Till loop and button failing both

At laft it flew away.

Then

Then might all people well difcern
The bottles he had flung,

A bottle fwinging at each fide
As hath been faid or fung.

The dogs did bark, the children scream'd,
Up flew the windows all,

And ev'ry foul cried out, Well done!
As loud as he could bawl.

Away went Gilpin-who but he;

His fame foon fpread aroundHe carries weight, he rides a race, 'Tis for a thousand pound.

And ftill as faft as he drew near,
'Twas wonderful to view
How in a trice the turnpike-men
Their gates wide open threw.

And

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
Moft piteous to be feen,

Which made his horfe's flanks to smoke
As they had bafted been.

But still he feem'd to carry weight,
With leathern girdle brac'd,
For all might fee the bottle necks
Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols he did play,
And till he came unto the Wash

Of Edmonton so gay.