JOHN GILPIN. 40. Away went Gilpin, out of breath, His horse at last stood still. 41. The calender, amazed to see His neighbour in such trim, Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, And thus accosted him: 42. What news? what news? your tidings tell, Or why you come at all? 43. Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, In merry guise he spoke : 49 46. When straight he came with hat and wig, A hat not much the worse for wear, 47. He held them up, and in his turn 48. But let me scrape the dirt away 49. Said John, it is my wedding-day, 50. So turning to his horse, he said I am in haste to dine: 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, You shall go back for mine. 51. 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; JOHN GILPIN. 52. Whereat his horse did snort, as he And galloped off with all his might, 53. Away went Gilpin, and away 54. Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw She pulled out half-a-crown; 55. And thus unto the youth she said This shall be yours when you bring back 56. 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. 57. But not performing what he meant, 51 58. Away went Gilpin, and away 59. Six gentlemen upon the road With postboy scampering in the rear, 60. Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman! Not one of them was mute : And all and each that passed that way Did join in the pursuit. 61. And now the turnpike gates again That Gilpin rode a race. 62. And so he did, and won it too, For he got first to town; Nor stopped till where he first got up, He did again get down. 63. Now let us sing, long live the king, And Gilpin, long live he; And when he next doth ride abroad, ELEGY: WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 1. THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight, 3. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complain, Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. 4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from her straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. |