Abbildungen der Seite

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 yours when you bring back

My husband safe and well.

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 post-boy at his heels!-

The post-boy's horse right glad to miss
The lumb'ring of the wheels.


Six gentlemen upon the road,

Thus seeing Gilpin fly,

With post-boy 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 had got up

He did again get down.

2 D

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!




VERSES addressed to a Country Clergyman complaining of the disagreeableness of the day annually appointed for receiving the Dues at the Parsonage.

COME, ponder well, for 'tis no jest,
To laugh it would be wrong; ! #
The troubles of a worthy priest

The burden of my song.

[ocr errors]

This priest he merry is and blithe
Three quarters of the year,

But oh! it cuts him like a sithe

When tithing time draws near.

He then is full of fright and fears,

As one at point to die,

And long before the day appears

He heaves up many a sigh.

For then the farmers come jog, jog,

Along the miry road,

Each heart as heavy as a log,

To make their payments good.

In sooth, the sorrow of such days

Is not to be express'd,

When he that takes and he that pays

Are both alike distress'd.

Now all, unwelcome, at his gates

The clumsy swains alight,

With rueful faces and bald pates

He trembles at the sight.

« ZurückWeiter »