So like an arrow swift he flew, Away went Gilpin, out of breath, Till at his friend the calender's The calender, amazed to see His neighbour 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, Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, 'I came because your horse would come, And, if I well forebode, My hat and wig will soon be here,- The calender, right glad to find 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 turn 'But let me scrape the dirt away Said John, 'It is my wedding day, 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, while he spake, a braying ass Whereat his horse did snort, as he And galloped off with all his might, Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig; Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw Into 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 back My husband safe and well.' The youth did ride, and soon did meet Whom in a trice he tried to stop, But not performing what he meant, Away went Gilpin, and away Went postboy at his heels, The postboy's horse right glad to miss Six gentlemen upon the road, With postboy scampering in the rear, 'Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman!' Not one of them was mute; And all and each that passed that way And now the turnpike gates again The toll-men thinking, as before, That Gilpin rode a race. And so he did, and won it too, Nor stopped till where he had got up Now let us sing, Long live the King! And when he next doth ride abroad May I be there to see! 325 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN DRINKING SONG HERE'S to the maiden of bashful fifteen, Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean, I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. Here's to the charmer, whose dimples we prize, Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow, For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be slim, I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. 326 ANNA LAETITIA BARBAULD [1743-1825] LIFE LIFE! I know not what thou art, But this I know, when thou art fled, As all that then remains of me. O whither, whither, dost thou fly? And in this strange divorce, Ah, tell where I must seek this compound I? From whence thy essence came Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed Wait, like some spell-bound knight, Life! we have been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; Choose thine own time; Say not Good-night, but in some brighter clime |