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 John coming back amain; Whom in a trice he tried to stop, By catching at his rein; But, not performing what he meant, The frighted steed he frighted more, Away went Gilpin, and away The post-boy's horse right glad to miss II. Six gentlemen upon the road, Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With post-boy scamp'ring in the rear, Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman! Not one of them was mute; And all and each that pass'd that way Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike gates again Flew 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 stopp'd till where he had got up He did again get down. 2 D 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! THE YEARLY DISTRESS, OR TITHING TIME AT STOCK IN ESSEX: VERSES addressed to a Country Clergyman complaining of the disagreeableness of the day annually appointed for receiving the Dues at the Parsonage. COME, ponder well, for 'tis no jest, The troubles of a worthy priest This priest he merry is and blithe But oh! it cuts him like a sithe When tithing time draws near. He then is full of fright and fears, As one at point to die, And long before the day appears He heaves up many a sigh. For then the farmers come jog, jog, Along the miry road, Each heart as heavy as a log, To make their payments good. In sooth, the sorrow of such days Is not to be express'd, When he that takes and he that pays Are both alike distress'd. Now all, unwelcome, at his gates The clumsy swains alight, With rueful faces and bald pates He trembles at the sight. And well he may, for well he knows Each bumpkin of the clan, Instead of paying what he owes, So in they come-each makes his leg, And flings his head before, And looks as if he came to beg, And not to quit a score. 'And how does miss and madam do, The little boy and all?' All tight and well: and how do you, Good Mr. What-d'ye-call?' The dinner comes, and down they sit: Were e'er such hungry folk? There's little talking, and no wit; It is no time to joke. |