The Blue Poetry Book. Lang Andrew

      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 balcòny spied

      Her tender husband, wondering 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 tired;

      Said Gilpin – So am I!

      But yet his horse was not a whit

      Inclined 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 Callender’s

      His horse at last stood still.

      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 bareheaded 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 forbode,

      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