Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, Were never folk so glad, The stones did rattle underneath As if Cheapside were mad. John Gilpin at his horse's side Seiz'd fast the flowing mane, And up he got, in haste to ride, For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he, His journey to begin, When, turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in. So down he came; for loss of time, Although it griev'd him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more. 'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty screaming came down stairs "The wine is left behind!" Good lack! quoth he-yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword When I do exercise. Now mistress Gilpin (careful soul!) To hold the liquor that she lov'd, 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 But, finding soon a smoother road The snorting beast began to trot, So, fair and softly, John he cried, 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 What thing upon his back had got Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; He little dreamt, when he set out, Of running such a rig! The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, 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 ev'ry soul cried out-Well done! As loud as he could bawl. Away went Gilpin-who but he? He carries weight! he rides a race! And still, as fast as he drew near, 'Twas wonderful to view How in a trice the turnpike-men Their gates wide open threw. II. 2 C |