At Edmonton, his loving wife
From the balcony spied

Her tender husband, wondering much

To see how he did ride.

Stop, stop, John Gilpin!-Here's the house!' 145 They all at once did cry;

'The dinner waits, and we are tired:'

Said Gilpin 'So am I!'

Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,
And thus accosted him:-

'What news? what news? your tidings tell;

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Tell me you must and shall

Or why you come at all?'

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,

And loved a timely joke;

And thus unto the calender,
In merry guise, he spoke:

Say why bareheaded you are come,

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'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,

Returned him not a single word,

But to the house went in;

Whence straight he came with hat and wig;

A wig that flowed behind,

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

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

'But let me scrape the dirt away

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'Twas for your pleasure you came here, You shall go back for mine.'

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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;

'This shall be yours, when you bring back My husband safe and well.'

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The youth did ride, and soon did meet

John coming back amain;

The postboy's horse right glad to miss
The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road,

Thus seeing Gilpin fly,

With postboy scampering in the rear,

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They raised the hue and cry:—

'Stop thief! stop thief!—a highwayman!' Not one of them was mute;

And all and each that passed that way

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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 stopped till where he had got up
He did again get down.

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HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,

Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo;

Old Tiny, surliest of his kind,
Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,

Was still a wild Jack hare.

Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance every night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.

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10

Eight years and five round-rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,

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Dozing out all his idle noons,

And every night at play.

I kept him for his humour's sake,

For he would oft beguile

My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.

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