In the Saddle: A Collection of Poems on Horseback-Riding

THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN

SHOWING HOW HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED, AND CAME SAFE HOME AGAINJohn Gilpin was a citizenOf credit and renown,A trainband captain eke was heOf famous London town.John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,"Though wedded we have beenThese twice ten tedious years, yet weNo holiday have seen."To morrow is our wedding-day,And we will then repairUnto the Bell at EdmontonAll in a chaise and pair."My sister, and my sister's child,Myself, and children three,Will fill the chaise; so you must rideOn horseback after we."He soon replied, "I do admireOf womankind but one,And you are she, my dearest dear,Therefore it shall be done."I am a linendraper bold,As all the world doth know,And my good friend the calenderWill lend his horse to go."Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said;And for that wine is dear,We will be furnished with our own,Which is both bright and clear."John Gilpin kissed his loving wife;O'erjoyed was he to find,That, though on pleasure she was bent,She had a frugal mind.The morning came, the chaise was brought,But yet was not allowedTo drive up to the door, lest allShould say that she was proud.So three doors off the chaise was stayed,Where they did all get in;Six precious souls, and all agogTo dash through thick and thin.Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,Were never folks so glad;The stones did rattle underneath,As if Cheapside were mad.John Gilpin at his horse's sideSeized fast the flowing mane,And up he got, in haste to ride,But soon came down again;For saddle-tree scarce reached had he,His journey to begin,When, turning round his head, he sawThree customers come in.So down he came; for loss of time,Although it grieved him sore,Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,Would trouble him much more.'Twas long before the customersWere suited to their mind,When Betty screaming came down stairs,"The wine is left behind!""Good lack!" quoth he, "yet bring it me,My leathern belt likewise,In which I bear my trusty swordWhen I do exercise."Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!)Had two stone bottles found,To hold the liquor that she loved,And keep it safe and sound.Each bottle had a curling ear,Through which the belt he drew,And hung a bottle on each side,To make his balance true.Then over all, that he might beEquipped from top to toe,His long-red cloak, well brushed and neat,He manfully did throw.Now see him mounted once againUpon his nimble steed,Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,With caution and good heed.But finding soon a smoother roadBeneath 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 mustWho cannot sit upright,He grasped the mane with both his hands,And eke with all his might.His horse, who never in that sortHad handled been before,What thing upon his back had gotDid wonder more and more.Away went Gilpin, neck or naught;Away went hat and wig;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 discernThe 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 menTheir gates wide open threw.And now, as he went bowing downHis reeking head fell low,The bottles twain behind his backWere shattered at a blow.Down ran the wine into the road,Most piteous to be seen,Which made his horse's flanks to smokeAs they had basted been.But still he seemed to carry weight,With leathern girdle braced;For all might see the bottle necksStill dangling at his waist.Thus all through merry IslingtonThese gambols did he play,Until he came unto the WashOf Edmonton so gay;And there he threw the wash aboutOn both sides of the way,Just like unto a trundling mop,Or a wild goose at play.At Edmonton his loving wifeFrom the balcony spiedHer tender husband, wondering muchTo 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 whitInclined to tarry there;For why? – his owner had a houseFull ten miles off, at Ware.So like an arrow swift he flew,Shot by an archer strong;So did he fly, – which brings me toThe middle of my song.Away went Gilpin out of breath,And sore against his will,Till at his friend the calender'sHis horse at last stood still.The calender, amazed to seeHis 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 calenderIn merry guise he spoke:"I came because your horse would come;And, if I well forbode,My hat and wig will soon be here,They are upon the road."The calender, right glad to findHis friend in merry pin,Returned him not a single word,But to the house went in;Whence straight he came with hat and wig;A wig that flowed behind,A hat not much the worse for wear,Each comely in its kind.He held them up, and in his turnThus showed his ready wit,"My head is twice as big as yours,They therefore needs must fit."But let me scrape the dirt awayThat hangs upon your face;And stop and eat, for well you mayBe 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, 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."Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast!For which he paid full dear;For, while he spake, a braying assDid sing most loud and clear;Whereat his horse did snort, as heHad heard a lion roar,And galloped off with all his might,As he had done before.Away went Gilpin, and awayWent Gilpin's hat and wig;He lost them sooner than at first,For why? – they were too big.Now Mistress Gilpin, when she sawHer husband posting downInto the country far away,She pulled out half a crown;And thus unto the youth she said,That drove them to the Bell,"This shall be yours, when you bring backMy husband safe and well."The youth did ride, and soon did meetJohn coming back amain;Whom in a trice he tried to stopBy 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 awayWent postboy at his heels,The postboy's horse right glad to missThe lumbering of the wheels.Six gentlemen upon the road,Thus seeing Gilpin fly,With postboy scampering in the rear,They raised the hue and cry: —"Stop thief! stop thief! – a highwayman!"Not one of them was mute;And all and each that passed that wayDid join in the pursuit.And now the turnpike-gates againFlew 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 stopped till where he had got upHe did again get down.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!"William Cowper.

REFLECTIONS OF A PROUD PEDESTRIAN

I saw the curl of his waving lash,And the glance of his knowing eye,And I knew that he thought he was cutting a dash,As his steed went thundering by.And he may ride in the rattling gig,Or flourish the Stanhope gay,And dream that he looks exceeding bigTo the people that walk in the way;But he shall think, when the night is still,On the stable-boy's gathering numbers,And the ghost of many a veteran billShall hover around his slumbers;The ghastly dun shall worry his sleep,And constables cluster around him,And he shall creep from the wood-hole deepWhere their spectre eyes have found him!Ay! gather your reins, and crack your thong,And bid your steed go faster;He does not know, as he scrambles along,That he has a fool for his master;And hurry away on your lonely ride,Nor deign from the mire to save me;I will paddle it stoutly at your sideWith the tandem that nature gave me!Oliver Wendell Holmes.

1

Busk– to dress. Boune– to prepare one's self for a journey.

2

A spot afterwards included in the domain of Abbotsford.

3

Wonder.

4

Each.

5

Bowed.

6

Destiny shall not alarm me.

7

Wonders.