But ftill he feem'd to carry weight, Thus all through merry Islington Until he came unto the Wafh And there he threw the wash about 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; Said Gilpin-So am I ! But yet his horfe was not a whit Inclin❜d to tarry there, For why?-his owner had a house So like an arrow fwift he flew, Away went Gilpin out of breath, Till at his friend the calender's The calender, amaz'd to fee His neighbour in fuch trim, Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, And thus accosted him: What news? what news? your tidings tell ; Tell me you must and shall- Say why bare-headed you are come, Or why you come at all. Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, I came because your horfe would come; My hat and wig will foon be here → The calender, right glad to find His friend in merry pin, Return'd him not a fingle word, But to the house went in; Whence ftraight he came with hat and wigs A hat not much the worse for wear, He held them up, and, in his turn, Away went Gilpin, and away Went post-boy at his heels! The post-boy's horse right glad to mifs The lumb'ring of the wheels. Six gentlemen upon the road, With post-boy scamp'ring in the rear, T: Stop thief! ftop thief! —a highwayman! Not one of them was mute; Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike gates again The toll-men thinking, as before, That Gilpin rode a race. And fo he did-and won it too! For he got first to town; Nor ftopp'd till where he had got up VOL. II. Now let us fing-Long live the king, And, when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to fee! THE YEARLY DISTRESS, OR TITHING TIME AT STOCK, IN ESSEX. Verses addreffed to a Country Clergyman complaining of the difagreeableness of the day annually appointed for receiving the Dues at the Parfonage. COME, ponder well, for 'tis no jeft, To laugh it would be wrong, The troubles of a worthy priest, The burden of my fong. This priest he merry is and blithe But oh! it cuts him like a fithe When tithing time draws near. |