Then, over all, that he might be

Equipp'd from top to toe,

His long red cloak, well brufh'd and neat,

He manfully did throw.

Now fee him mounted once again

Upon his nimble steed,

Full flowly, pacing o'er the ftones

With caution and good heed!

But, finding foon a fimoother road
Beneath his well-fhod feet,

The fnorting 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 spite of curb and rein.

So, ftooping down, as needs he must

Who cannot fit upright,

He grafp'd the mane with both his hands,

And eke with all his might.

His horfe, 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 ftreamer long and gay,

Till, loop and button failing both,

At laft it flew away.

Then might all people well discern

The bottles he had flung;

A bottle fwinging at each fide,

As hath been faid or fung.

The dogs did bark, the children fcream'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 ftill, 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 fhatter'd at a blow.

Down ran the wine into the road,

Most piteous to be feen,

Which made his horfe'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 Wath

Of Edmonton fo 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 fpied

Her tender husband, wond'ring much

To fee how he did ride.

Stop, ftop, 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 !

Inclin❜d to tarry there;

For why?- his owner had a house

Full ten miles off, at Ware,