"So, fair and softly!" John he cried, But John he cried in vain; That trot became a gallop soon, In spite of curb and rein. So stooping down, as needs he must Who cannot sit upright, He grasped the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might. His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got, Did wonder more and more. Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; Away went hat and wig; [Illustration] He little dreamt, when he set out, Of running such a rig. The wind did blow, the cloak did fly Like streamer long and gay, 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 screamed, Up flew the windows all; 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! '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. And now, as he went bowing down His reeking head full low, The bottles twain behind his back Were shattered at a blow. Down ran the wine into the road, Most piteous to be seen, Which made the horses flanks to smoke As they had basted been. But still he seemed to carry weight, With leathern girdle braced; For all might see the bottle-necks Still dangling at his waist. Thus all through merry Islington These gambols he did play, Until he came unto the Wash 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. 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!" 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; For why?--his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware. So like an arrow swift he flew, Shot by an archer strong; So did he fly--which brings me to 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. The calender, amazed to see His neighbour in such trim, Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, And thus accosted him: [Illustration]