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 foon a smoother road
Beneath his well-fhod feet,
The snorting beast 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, stooping down, as needs he must
Who cannot fit upright,

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

His horse, 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 streamer long and gay,

Till, loop and button failing both,

At last it flew away.

Then might all people well difcern

The bottles he had flung;

A bottle swinging 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 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,

Moft piteous to be seen,

Which made his horse's flanks to smoke

As they had bafted been.

But still he seem'd to carry weight,
With leathern girdle brac'd;

For all might fee the bottle-necks

Still dangling at his waift.

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 fides of the way,

Just like unto a trundling mop,

Or a wild goofe at play.

At Edmonton his loving wife
From the balcony spied

Her tender husband, wond'ring much

To fee how he did ride.

Stop, stop, John Gilpin!-Here's the houseThey all at once did cry;

The dinner waits, and we are tir'd:

Said Gilpin-So am I!

But yet his horfse was not a whit
Inclin'd to tarry there;

For why?-his owner had a house

Full ten miles off, at Ware.