For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he,

His journey to begin, When turning round his head he saw Three customers come in;

So down he came, for loss of time
Although it grieved him sore,
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
Would trouble him much more.

"Twas long before the customers

Were suited to their mind, When Betty screaming came down stairs, "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 soul !
Had two stone bottles found,
To hold the liquor that she loved,
And keep it safe and sound.

Each bottle had a curling ear,

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,

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

Now see him mounted once again
Upon his nimble steed,
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones
With caution and good heed.

But finding soon a smoother road
Beneath his well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,
Which gall'd him in his seat.

So, Fair and softly! John he cried;
But John he cried in vain,
That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb and rein.

So stooping down, as needs he must
Who cannot sit upright,

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

His horse, who never in that sort
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 set out
Of running such a rig.

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
Like streamer long and gay,
Till loop and button failing both,
At last it flew away.

Then might all people well discern
The bottles he had slung,
A bottle swinging at each side,
As hath been said or sung.

The dogs did bark, the children scream'd,
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.

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 horse's flanks to smoke
As they had basted been.

But still he seem'd 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 he did play,
And till he came unto 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, wondering much

The Callender, 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 Callender

In merry guise he spoke :

I came because your horse would come;
And if I well forebode,

My hat and wig will soon be here,
They are upon the road.

The Callender, right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,
Return'd him not a single word,
But to the house went in ;

Whence straight he came with hat and wig,
A wig that flow'd behind,

A hat not much the worse for wear,
Each comely in its kind.

He held them up, and in his turn
Thus show'd his ready wit,
My head is twice as big as yours,
They therefore needs must fit.

But let me scrape the dirt away

That hangs upon your face;
And stop and eat, for well you may
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;
For while he spake, a braying ass
Did sing most loud and clear;

Whereat his horse did snort as he
Had heard a lion roar,

And gallop'd off with all his might
As he had done before.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went Gilpin's hat and wig;
He lost them sooner than at first,
For why they were too big.

Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw
Her husband posting down
Into the country far away,

She pull'd out half 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,
The frighted steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went post-boy at his heels,
The post-boy's horse right glad to miss
The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,

With post-boy scampering in the rear,
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,
The toll-men thinking as before
That Gilpin rode a race.

And so he did, and won it too!
For he got first to town,
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up
He did again get down.

Now let us sing, Long live the king,
And Gilpin long live he,
And when he next doth ride abroad,
May I be there to see!

Ah miser,

AIRY DEL CASTRO was as bold a knight
As ever earn'd a lady's love in fight.
Many he sought, but one above the rest
His tender heart victoriously impress'd:
In fairy-land was born the matchless dame,
The land of dreams, Hypothesis her name.
There Fancy nursed her in ideal bowers,
And laid her soft in amaranthine flowers;
Delighted with her babe, the enchantress smiled,
And graced with all her gifts the favourite child.
Her woo'd Sir Airy, by meandering streams,
In daily musings and in nightly dreams;
With all the flowers he found, he wove in haste
Wreaths for her brow, and girdles for her waist;
His time, his talents, and his ceaseless care
All consecrated to adorn the fair;
No pastime but with her he deign'd to take,
And, if he studied, studied for her sake.
And, for Hypothesis was somewhat long,
Nor soft enough to suit a lover's tongue,
He call'd her Posy, with an amorous art,

And graved it on a gem, and wore it next his heart.
But she, inconstant as the beams that play
On rippling waters in an April day,
With many a freakish trick deceived his pains,
To pathless wilds and unfrequented plains
Enticed him from his oaths of knighthood far,
Forgetful of the glorious toils of war.
'Tis thus the tenderness that love inspires
Too oft betrays the votaries of his fires;
Borne far away on elevated wings,
They sport like wanton doves in airy rings,
And laws and duties are neglected things.

Nor he alone address'd the wayward fair;
Full many a knight had been entangled there.
But still, whoever woo'd her or embraced,
On every mind some mighty spell she cast.
Some she would teach (for she was wondrous wise,
And made her dupes see all things with her eyes)
That forms material, whatsoe'er we dream,
Are not at all, or are not what they seem;
That substances and modes of every kind
Are mere impressions on the passive mind;
And he that splits his cranium, breaks at most
A fancied head against a fancied post:
Others, that earth, ere sin had drown'd it all,
Was smooth and even as an ivory ball;
That all the various beauties we survey,
Hills, vallies, rivers, and the boundless sea,
Are but departures from the first design,
Effects of punishment and wrath divine.
She tutor'd some in Dædalus's art,

And promised they should act his wildgoose part,

HOR. lib. i. Ode 27.

On waxen pinions soar without a fall,
Swift as the proudest gander of them all.

But fate reserved Sir Airy to maintain
The wildest project of her teeming brain;
That wedlock is not rigorous as supposed,
But man, within a wider pale enclosed,
May rove at will, where appetite shall lead,
Free as the lordly bull that ranges o'er the mead;
That forms and rites are tricks of human law,
As idle as the chattering of a daw;
That lewd incontinence, and lawless rape,
Are marriage in its true and proper shape;
That man by faith and truth is made a slave,
The ring a bauble, and the priest a knave.

Fair fall the deed! the knight exulting cried, Now is the time to make the maid a bride!

"Twas on the noon of an autumnal day, October hight, but mild and fair as May; When scarlet fruits the russet hedge adorn, And floating films envelop every thorn; When gently as in June, the rivers glide, And only miss the flowers that graced their side; The linnet twitter'd out his parting song, With many a chorister the woods among; On southern banks the ruminating sheep Lay snug and warm ;-'twas summer's farewell Propitious to his fond intent there grew [реер. An arbour near at hand of thickest yew, With many a boxen bush, close clipt between, And phillyrea of a gilded green.

But what old Chaucer's merry page befits, The chaster muse of modern days omits. Suffice it then in decent terms to say, She saw, and turn'd her rosy cheek away. Small need of prayer-book or of priest, I ween, Where parties are agreed, retired the scene, Occasion prompt, and appetite so keen. Hypothesis (for with such magic power Fancy endued her in her natal hour) From many a steaming lake and reeking bog, Bade rise in haste a dank and drizzling fog, That curtain'd round the scene where they reposed, And wood and lawn in dusky folds enclosed.

Fear seized the trembling sex; in every grove They wept the wrongs of honourable love. In vain, they cried, are hymeneal rites, Vain our delusive hope of constant knights; The marriage bond has lost its power to bind, And flutters loose, the sport of every wind. The bride, while yet her bride's attire is on, Shall mourn her absent lord, for he is gone, Satiate of her, and weary of the same, To distant wilds, in quest of other game.

Ye fair Circassians! all your lutes employ,
Seraglios sing, and harems dance for joy!
For British nymphs whose lords were lately true,
Nymphs quite as fair, and happier once than you,
Honour, esteem, and confidence forgot,
Feel all the meanness of your slavish lot.
O curst Hypothesis! your hellish arts
Seduce our husbands, and estrange their hearts.—
Will none arise? no knight who still retains
The blood of ancient worthies in his veins,
To assert the charter of the chaste and fair,
Find out her treacherous heart, and plant a dagger
there!

A knight (can he that serves the fair do less)
Starts at the call of beauty in distress;
And he that does not, whatsoe'er occurs,
Is recreant, and unworthy of his spurs1.

Full many a champion, bent on hardy deed,
Call'd for his arms and for his princely steed.
So swarm'd the Sabine youth, and grasp'd the
shield,

When Roman rapine, by no laws withheld,

Lest Rome should end with her first founders' lives,
Made half their maids, sans ceremony, wives.
But not the mitred few, the soul their charge,
They left these bodily concerns at large;
Forms or no forms, pluralities or pairs,
Right reverend sirs! was no concern of theirs.
The rest, alert and active as became

A courteous knighthood, caught the generous flame;

One was accoutred when the cry began,
Knight of the Silver Moon, Sir Marmadan.

Oft as his patroness, who rules the night,
Hangs out her lamp in yon cærulean height,
His vow was, (and he well perform'd his vow)
Arm'd at all points, with terror on his brow,
To judge the land, to purge atrocious crimes,
And quell the shapeless monsters of the times.
For cedars famed, fair Lebanon supplied
The well-poised lance that quiver'd at his side;
Truth arm'd it with a point so keen, so just,
No spell or charm was proof against the thrust.
He couch'd it firm upon his puissant thigh,
And darting through his helm an eagle's eye,
On all the wings of chivalry advanced
To where the fond Sir Airy lay entranced.
He dreamt not of a foe, or if his fear
Foretold one, dreamt not of a foe so near.
Far other dreams his feverish mind employ'd,
Of rights restored, variety enjoy'd;

Of virtue too well fenced to fear a flaw;
Vice passing current by the stamp of law;
Large population on a liberal plan,

And woman trembling at the foot of man;
How simple wedlock fornication works,
And Christians marrying may convert the Turks.
The trumpet now spoke Marmadan at hand,
A trumpet that was heard through all the land.
His high-bred steed expands his nostrils wide,
And snorts aloud to cast the mist aside;
But he, the virtues of his lance to show,
Struck thrice the point upon his saddle-bow;
Three sparks ensued that chased it all away,
And set the unseemly pair in open day.
"To horse!" he cried, "or, by this good right
hand

And better spear, I smite you where you stand."
Sir Airy, not a whit dismay'd or scared,
Buckled his helm, and to his steed repair'd;
Whose bridle, while he cropp'd the grass below,
Hung not far off upon a myrtle bough.
He mounts at once,-such confidence infused
The insidious witch that had his wits abused;
And she, regardless of her softer kind,
Seized fast the saddle and sprang up behind.
"Oh shame to knighthood!" his assailant cried;
"Oh shame!" ten thousand echoing nymphs re-
plied.

Placed with advantage at his listening ear,
She whisper'd still that he had nought to fear;
That he was cased in such enchanted steel,
So polish'd and compact from head to heel,
"Come ten, come twenty, should an army call
Thee to the field, thou shouldst withstand them all.”
"By Dian's beams," Sir Marmadan exclaim'd,
"The guiltiest still are ever least ashamed!
But guard thee well, expect no feign'd attack;
And guard beside the sorceress at thy back!"

He spoke indignant, and his spurs applied, Though little need, to his good palfrey's side; The barb sprang forward, and his lord, whose force Was equal to the swiftness of his horse, Rush'd with a whirlwind's fury on the foe, And, Phineas-like, transfix'd them at a blow.

Then sang the married and the maiden throng, Love graced the theme, and harmony the song; The Fauns and Satyrs, a lascivious race, Shriek'd at the sight, and, conscious, fled the place: And Hymen, trimming his dim torch anew, His snowy mantle o'er his shoulders threw ; He turn'd, and view'd it oft on every side, And reddening with a just and generous pride, Bless'd the glad beams of that propitious day, The spot he loath'd so much for ever cleansed

away.

VERSES

WRITTEN AT BATH, ON FINDING THE HEEL OF A SHOE, IN 1748.

FORTUNE! I thank thee: gentle Goddess, thanks!
Not that my Muse, though bashful, shall deny
She would have thank'd thee rather, hadst thou cast
A treasure in her way; for neither meed
Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes
And bowel-racking pains of emptiness,
Nor noontide feast, nor evening's cool repast,
Hopes she from this, presumptuous, though per-
The cobbler, leather-carving artist, might. [haps
Nathless she thanks thee, and accepts thy boon,
Whatever; not as erst the fabled cock,
Vain-glorious fool, unknowing what he found,
Spurn'd the rich gem thou gavest him. Where-
fore, ah!

Why not on me that favour, (worthier sure) Conferr'dst thou, Goddess? Thou art blind, thou say'st:

Enough! thy blindness shall excuse the deed.

Nor does my muse no benefit exhale
From this thy scant indulgence;-even here,
Hints, worthy sage philosophy, are found,
Illustrious hints, to moralize my song.
This ponderous heel of perforated hide,
Compact, with pegs indented many a row,
Haply, (for such its massy form bespeaks)
The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown
Upbore: on this supported oft he stretch'd,
With uncouth strides, along the furrow'd glebe,
Flattening the stubborn clod, till cruel time
(What will not cruel time?) on a wry step,
Sever'd the strict cohesion; when, alas!
He, who could erst with even equal pace,
Pursue his destined way with symmetry
And some proportion form'd, now, on one side,
Curtail'd and maim'd, the sport of vagrant boys,
Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop!
With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on.
Thus fares it oft with other than the feet
Of humble villager: the statesman thus,
Up the steep road where proud ambition leads,
Aspiring, first uninterrupted winds

His prosperous way; nor fears miscarriage foul,
While policy prevails and friends prove true:
But that support soon failing, by him left,
On whom he most depended,-basely left,
Betrayed, deserted, from his airy height
Headlong he falls, and through the rest of life
Drags the dull load of disappointment on.

OF HIMSELF.

TO MISS THEODORA JANE COWPER.

WILLIAM was once a bashful youth; His modesty was such,

That one might say (to say the truth) He rather had too much.

Some said that it was want of sense, And others want of spirit, (So blest a thing is impudence)

While others could not bear it:

But some a different notion had,
And at each other winking,
Observed, that though he little said,
He paid it off with thinking.

Howe'er it happen'd, by degrees,
He mended and grew perter;
In company was more at ease,

And dress'd a little smarter;

Nay, now and then would look quite gay, As other people do ;

And sometimes said, or tried to say,

A witty thing or so.

He eyed the women, and made free
To comment on their shapes;
So that there was, or seem'd to be,
No fear of a relapse.

The women said, who thought him rough,
But now no longer foolish,
"The creature may do well enough,
But wants a deal of polish."

At length, improved from head to heel,
"Twere scarce too much to say,
No dancing bear was so genteel,
Or half so dégagé.

Now that a miracle so strange

May not in vain be shown,

Let the dear maid who wrought the change Even claim him for her own.

WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING HER AT NEW BURNS.

How quick the change from joy to woe!
How chequer'd is our lot below!
Seldom we view the prospect fair;
Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care,
(Some pleasing intervals between)
Scowl over more than half the scene.
Last week with Delia, gentle maid,
Far hence in happier fields I stray'd.
Five suns successive rose and set,
And saw no monarch in his state,
Wrapp'd in the blaze of majesty,
So free from every care as I.-
Next day the scene was overcast ;
Such day till then I never pass'd,-
For on that day, relentless fate!
Delia and I must separate.

Yet ere we look'd our last farewell,
From her dear lips this comfort fell :-
"Fear not that time, where'er we rove,
Or absence, shall abate my love."