English Narrative Poems

Narrative poetry, English; Readers -- Poetry
Then might all people well discern                               105
      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;                                       110
    And every soul cried out, "Well done!"
      As loud as he could bawl.

    Away went Gilpin--who but he?
      His fame soon spread around,
    "He carries weight! he rides a race[8]!                          115
      'Tis for a thousand pound!"

    And still as fast as he drew near,
      'Twas wonderful to view,
    How in a trice the turnpike men
      Their gates wide open threw.                                   120

    And now, as he went bowing down
      His reeking head full low,
    The bottles twain behind his back
      Were shatter'd at a blow.

    Down ran the wine into the road,                                 125
      Most piteous to be seen,
    Which made his horse's flanks to smoke
      As they had basted been.

    But still he seem'd to carry weight,
      With leathern girdle braced;                                   130
    For all might see the bottle necks
      Still dangling at his waist.

    Thus all through merry Islington[9]
      These gambols did he play,
    Until he came unto the Wash                                      135
      Of Edmonton so gay;

    And there he threw the wash about
      On both sides of the way,
    Just like unto a trundling mop,
      Or a wild goose at play.                                       140

    At Edmonton his loving wife
      From the balcony spied
    Her tender husband, wondering much
      To see how he did ride.

    "Stop, stop, John Gilpin!--Here's the house,"                    145
      They all at once did cry;
    "The dinner waits, and we are tired:"
      Said Gilpin--"So am I!"

    But yet his horse was not a whit
      Inclined to tarry there;                                       150
    For why?--his owner had a house
      Full ten miles off, at Ware.[10]

    So like an arrow swift he flew,
      Shot by an archer strong;
    So did he fly--which brings me to                                155
      The middle of my song.

    Away went Gilpin out of breath,
      And sore against his will,
    Till at his friend the calender's
      His horse at last stood still.                                 160

    The calender, amazed to see
      His neighbor in such trim,
    Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,
      And thus accosted him:

    "What news? what news? your tidings tell;                        165
      Tell me you must and shall--
    Say why bareheaded you are come,
      Or why you come at all?"

    Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
      And loved a timely joke;                                       170
    And thus unto the calender
      In merry guise he spoke:
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English Narrative Poems

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