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At Edmonton, his loving wife
From the balcony spied
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!'
"What news? what news ? your tidings tell;
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:
'I came because your horse would come;
And, if I well forebode,
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,
Each comely in its kind.
So turning to his "horse, he said,
'I am in haste to dine; 'Twas for your pleasure you came here,
You shall go back for mine.'
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;
And thus unto the youth she said,
That drove them to the Bell, "This shall be yours, when you bring back
My husband safe and well.'
The youth did ride, and soon did meet
John coming back amain; Whom in a trice he tried to stop
By catching at his rein;
But not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
And made him faster run.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went postboy at his heels,
The lumbering of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road,
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
They raised the hue and cry:
Stop thief! stop thief !-a highwayman!'
Not one of them was mute;
Did join in the pursuit.
HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swifter greyhound follow,
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 piţtance every night,
And, when he could, would bite.
Eight years and five round-rolling moons
He thus saw steal away, Dozing out all his idle noons,
And every night at play.
I kept him for his humour's sake,
For he would oft beguile
And force me to a smile.
But now, beneath this walnut shade,
He finds his long, last home,
Till gentler Puss shall come.
He, still more aged, feels the shocks,
From which no care can save, And partner once of Tiny's box,
Must soon partake his grave.