Stop, stop, John Gilpin !-Here's the house-- They all aloud did cry ; The dinner waits, and we are tired: Said Gilpin---So am I! But yet his horse was not a whit For why?---his owner had a house So like an arrow swift he flew, Away went Gilpin out of breath, The calender, amazed to see 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; I came because your horse would come; My hat and wig will soon be here, They are upon the road. The calender right glad to find Whence straight he came with hat and wig ; A wig that flowed behind, A hat not much the worse for wear, He held them up, and in his turn But let me scrape the dirt away, Said John—It is my wedding-day, So turning to his horse, he said, 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast! For, while he spake, a braying ass Whereat his horse did snort, as he And gallopped off with all his might, Away went Gilpin, and away Now Mrs. Gilpin, when she saw She pulled 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 The youth did ride, and soon did meet But not performing what he meant, Away went Gilpin, and away The post-boy's horse right glad to miss Six gentlemen upon the road, With post-boy scampering in the rear, Stop thief! stop thief!---a highwayman! And all and each that passed that way 236 TO THE REV. W. C. UNWIN. And so he did, and won it too, Now let us sing long live the king, TO THE REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN. UNWIN, I should but ill repay The kindness of a friend, As ever friendship penned, Thy name omitted in a page That would reclaim a vicious age. An union formed, as mine with thee, Not rashly, or in sport, May be as fervent in degree, And faithful in its sort, And may as rich in comfort prove, As that of true fraternal love. The bud inserted in the rind, The bud of peach or rose, With flower as sweet or fruit as fair, Not rich, I render what I may, The poet's lyre, to fix his fame, ANSWER TO STANZAS ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH, BY MISS CATHARINE FANSHAWE, IN RETURNING A POEM OF MR. COWPER'S, LENT TO HER, ON CONDITION SHE SHOULD NEITHER SHOW IT, NOR TAKE A COPY. 1793. To be remembered thus is fame, So Homer in the memory stored Was once preserved---a richer hoard, |