Smack went the whip, 'round went the wheels,

Were never folks so glad;

The stones did rattle underneath

As if Cheapside were mad.

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Now see him mounted once again,
Upon his nimble steed,

Full slowly pacing o'er the stones
With caution and good heed.

But finding soon a smoother road
Beneath his well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,
Which galled him in his seat.

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, which 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;

He little dreamed 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 his horse's 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.

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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 neighbor in such trim,

Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,
And thus accosted him:

"What news? what news? your tidings tell;

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;
And thus unto the calender,

In merry guise, he spoke: