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 lov'd,
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 eloak 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 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 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 brac'd; For all might see the bottle-necks

Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols he did play,
Until 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, 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 tir'd:

Said Gilpin-So am I!

But yet his horse was not a whit

Inclin'd 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, amaz'd 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 bareheaded you are come,

Or why you come at all?

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And lov'd a timely joke!
And thus unto the calender
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 calender, right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,
Return'd him not a single word,

But to the house went in;