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The Blue Poetry Book
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His reeking head full low,
The bottles twain behind his back
Were shatter’d 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 seem’d 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,
And till 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.
At Edmonton his loving wife
From the balcòny 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 Callender’s
His horse at last stood still.
The Callender, 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,
Or why you come at all?
Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And loved a timely joke,
And thus unto the Callender
In 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 Callender, right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,
Return’d him not a single word,
But to the house went in.
Whence straight he came with hat and wig,
A wig that flow’d behind,
A hat not much the worse for wear,
Each comely in its kind.
He held them up, and in his turn
Thus show’d his ready wit,
My head is twice as big as yours,
They therefore needs must fit.
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, 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!
The bottles twain behind his back
Were shatter’d 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 seem’d 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,
And till 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.
At Edmonton his loving wife
From the balcòny 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 Callender’s
His horse at last stood still.
The Callender, 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,
Or why you come at all?
Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And loved a timely joke,
And thus unto the Callender
In 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 Callender, right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,
Return’d him not a single word,
But to the house went in.
Whence straight he came with hat and wig,
A wig that flow’d behind,
A hat not much the worse for wear,
Each comely in its kind.
He held them up, and in his turn
Thus show’d his ready wit,
My head is twice as big as yours,
They therefore needs must fit.
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, 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!
Другие электронные книги автора Andrew Lang
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