Thus all through merry Islington And there he threw the wash about At Edmonton his loving wife Her tender husband, wondering much Stop, stop, John Gilpin !-Here's the house- The dinner waits, and we are tired; Said Gilpin-So am I! But yet his horse was not a whit For why?-his owner had a house So like an arrow swift he flew, Away went Gilpin out of breath, The calender, amazed to see 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, I came because your horse would come; My hat and wig will soon be here, They are upon the road. The calender, right glad to find Whence straight he came with hat and wig; A hat not much the worse for wear, He held them up, and in his turn But let me scrape the dirt away, Said John, It is my wedding-day, So turning to his horse, he said, 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast! For, while he spake, a braying ass Whereat his horse did snort, as he And gallop'd off with all his might, Away went Gilpin, and away Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw She pull'd out half a crown; And thus unto the youth she said This shall be yours, when you bring back The youth did ride, and soon did meet Whom in a trice he tried to stop, But not performing what he meant, And made him faster run. Away went Gilpin, and away Six gentlemen upon the road, With postboy scampering in the rear, Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman! Not one of them was mute; And all and each that pass'd that way Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike gates again And so he did, and won it too, Nor stopp'd till where he had got up Now let us sing, long live the king, And Gilpin long live he; And, when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see! AN EPISTLE то AN AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCE. Madam, A STRANGER'S purpose in these lays The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown; No traveller ever reach'd that bless'd abode, Who found not thorns and briers in his road. The World may dance along the flowery plain,Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain; Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread, With unshod feet they yet securely tread, Admonish'd, scorn the caution and the friend, Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end. But he, who knew what human hearts would prove, How slow to learn the dictates of his love, That, hard by nature and of stubborn will, A life of ease would make them harder still, In pity to the souls his grace design'd To rescue from the ruins of mankind, Call'd for a cloud to darken all their years, And said, 'Go, spend them in the vale of tears.' |