196 SELECT POETRY

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 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 bare-headed you are come,
Or why you come at all ?”