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But let me scrape the dirt away

That hangs 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, turping 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 fing 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.

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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, Mrs Gilpin, when she saw

Her husband posting down Into the country far away,

She pulld out half a crown;

And thus unto the youth she said

That drove them to the BellThis 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 ;

Bụt, not performig 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 mirs

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 aud 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 fhort 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.

Now let us fing-Long live the kiog,

And Gilpin, long live he; And, when he next doth ride abroad,

May I be there to see!






Anno Domini 1787.

Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,
Regumque turres.

Pale Death, with equal foot strikes wide the door
Of royal Halls and hovels of the Poor.

While thirteen moons saw smoothly run

The Nen's barge-laden wave,
All these, Life's rambling journey done,

Have found their home,--the Grave.

Was Man, (frail always) made more frail

Than in foregoing years?
Did Famine or did Plague prevail,
That so much death appears?

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