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Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,

And lov'd a timely joke ; And thus unto the calender

In merry guise he spoke :

I came because your horse would come ;

And, if I well forbode,
My hat and wig will soon be here,

They are upon the road.

The calender right glad to find

His friend in merry pin, Return'd him not a single word,

But to the house went in :

Whence straight he came with hat and wig;

A wig that flow'd behind,
A hat not much the worse for wear,

Each ccmely in its kind.

He held them up, and in his turn

Thus show'd his ready wit,
My head is twice as big as yours,

They therefore needs must fit.

But let me scrape the dirt away

That nangs upon your face ;
And stop and eat, for well you may

Be in a hungry case.

Said John, it is my wedding day,

And all the world would stare, If wife should dine at Edmonton,

And I should dine at Ware.

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.

Whereat his horse did snort, as he

Had heard a lion roar,
And gallop'd off with all his might,

As he had done before.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went Gilpin's hat and wig ; He lost them sooner than at first,

For why—they were too big.

Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw

Her husband posting down Into the country far away,

She pull’d out half a crown;

And thus unto the youth she said,

That drove them to the Bell,
This shall be


you bring back My husband safe and well.

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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,
The frighted steed he frighted more,

And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went postboy at his heels, The postboy's horse right glad to miss

The lumb’ring of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road,

Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With postboy scamp’ring in the rear,

They rais’d the hue and cry :

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

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 stopp'd till where he did get up

He did again get down.
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 :







A STRANGER’S purpose in these lays
Is to congratulate, and not to praise.
To give the creature the Creator's due
Were sin in me, and an offence to you.
From man to man, or e 'en to woman paid,
Praise is the medium of a knavish trade,
A coin by Craft for Folly's use design'd,
Spurious, and only current with the blind.

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The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown; No trav'ller ever reach'd that blest abode, Who found not thorns and briers in the road. The World may dance along the flow'ry 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."
O balmy gales of soul-reviving air !
O salutary streams that murmur there !
These flowing from the fount of grace above,
Those breath'd from lips of everlasting love.
The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys ;
Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys;
An envious world will interpose its frown,
To mar delights superiour to its own :
And many a pang, experienc'd still within
Remind them of their hated inmate, sin ;
But ills of ev'ry shade and ev'ry name,
Transform’d to blessings, miss their cruel aim;
And ev'ry moment's calm, that soothes the breast,
Is givin in earnest of eternal rest,

Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast Far from the flock, and in a bouncess waste! No shepherds' tents within thy view appear, But the chief Shepherd even there is near ; Thy tender sorrows, and thy plaintive strain Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ; Thy tears all issue from a source divine, And ev'ry drop bespeaks a Saviour thine So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, And drought on all the drooping herbs around.

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