John Gilpin
was a citizen
Of credit and renown,
A common-council man was he,
of famous London town.
Most folks have heard
of Gilpin's fame,
And of the race he won,
When he on horse back did set out,
All unto Edmonton.
[A]nd never since
that luckless time,
Which gave him such dismay;
[F]or ten whole years, had he, and spouse,
Enjoy'd, a holiday.
[T]he main chance
minding, still at home,
On bus'ness quite intent;
[H]e made amends, there is no doubt,
For what that day was spent.
[T]heir daughters
rising in their teens,
Were innocent, and gay,
[A]nd as young girls, they often beg'd
To have a holiday.
Good Mistress Gilpin
had a heart,
Her pretty girls to please;
[B]ut how to win John Gilpin to't,
Was not a task of ease.
[H]owe'er , said she,
leave that to me,
It never will cause strife;
[For] he will, sure, comply once more
[T]o please his loving wife.
[She] mark'd the time,
in chearful mood,
[Jo]hn Gilpin for to see;
[When u]nto him thus did she speak,
[On]e evening o'er their tea.
["My] dear, you
must a favour grant,
Your tenderness to prove;"
[Says] Gilpin, "what is your desire?
[I] can't deny my love."
[Wh]y, there's my
sweetest life, said she,
And strok'd his smirking face,
[A]t which he kiss'd his dearest dear,
And smil'd with comely grace.
[You] know, said she,
"Since that sad day,
"Which we could not foresee,
"That we have never thought upon,
"An other holiday.
"Ten circling
years have made their round,
"And time comes stealing on;
"Next Tuesday is our wedding day,
"Then pray let us have one."
John Gilpin hum'd,
and ha'd awhile,
Then cried, "it shall be so,
"Yet hope, you do not mean, my dear,
"To EDMONTON to go.
"That cursed
jaunt I can't forget,
"Which brought me such disgrace;"
"No, no, my dear, she quick reply'd,
"I mean a nearer place.
"Amusements round
the town are found,
"Delighting unto all;
"Therefore with me, if you'll agree,
"We'll go to sweet Vaux-hall.
"A sculler, sure,
will take us all,
"The purchase can't be great;
"And then along the silver Thames,
"How we shall ride in state."
"Thy will be
done, John Gilpin cry'd,
"I like thy thought in this;
"The ev'ning is not all the day,
"Much bus'ness we can't miss.
"Then Mistress
Gilpin said to John,
"That we may all be gay,
"Your very suit you shall have on,
"Made for your wedding-day.
"Your lac'd cravat,
and beaver hat,
"Your cane with head of gold,
"With roll'd up hose, and then you'll be
"Most charming to behold."
At length the happy
time arriv'd,
John Gilpin neatly dress'd,
Look'd like a citizen, indeed,
Array'd in all his best.
The Misses, with their
kind Mama,
All furbelow'd about,
With proper cloaks, in case of rain,
In joyful mood set out.
And now unto the river's
side,
They smilingly drew near;
The Watermen, cries "Gilpin", comes,
And run to get the fair.
Now seated in the
cleanly boat,
How smoothly did they glide;
Their hearts were ev'ry one on float,
As was the flowing tide.
The daughters gracefully
did look,
Which graces much my theme,
Stately as are the downy swans
That swim upon the stream.
John Gilpin view'd
with joy the pair,
(Forgive him this small pride)
And thought them pictures of his dear,
When she became his bride.
Good Mistress Gilpin
too was pleas'd,
Because she then did find,
That tho' her charms began to fade,
They bloom'd in Gilpin's mind.
Boat, after boat,
now press'd the tide,
And seem'd to swim a race;
John fear'd, lest some mischance shou'd hap,
As in the former case.
For not to pleasure
much inclin'd,
Fate seem'd to be his foe,
To make of him the laughing stock,
Wherever he did go.
His person known,
likewise his name!
The wags, as they row'd by,
Cried, smoke John Gilpin, that's the man
That rode so manfully.
At this alarm'd, he
hung his head,
Asham'd of his disgrace;
But with their dashing oars, they dash'd
The water in his face.
Then bounce against
the boat they went,
Which made the Ladies scream,
And Gilpin's hat, by sudden jerk,
Went souse into the stream.
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Too swift
it sail'd to be o'ertook,
Which made the wags more gay,
And all cry'd out, "see Gilpin's hat,
"How fast it runs away."
When Mistress Gilpin
thought his hat
most certainly was gone;
She whisper'd to him, pray take care
Your perriwig keep on.
I fear my dear you
may take cold;
But other thoughts had he:
So he secur'd it with both hands,
Which else away might flee.
For loss of hat and
wig before,
Came fresh into his mind,
When he the race did run to Ware,
"And left the world behind."
But patient still,
yet full of fear
That matters might go worse,
And make the water prove as bad
As formerly the horse.
He only to the sneerers
said,
"I let you have your way,
"An other time it may be mine,
"Each dog must have his day."
So on he went, and
on went they,
'Till coming near the shore,
Well pleas'd was Gilpin to behold
His hat was there before.
The boats push'd in
from ev'ry part,
And try'd which first should land;
But glad was he the hat to see
So near unto his hand.
He snatch'd it up
with all his might,
And eke with joy and glee,
Then bowing of his head, he said,
"Your welcome, Sir, to me."
Then getting all upon
dry land,
He to his wife did say,
"My other hat, you know, my dear,
"Was carried quite away.
"But this, more
honest, comes again,
"And when I get him home,
"I'll keep him safe within a box,
"That he no more shall roam."
Beneath his arm his
hat he plac'd,
You'll guess the reason why,
In hopes, before he came away,
Again it might be dry.
And in this state
they march'd along,
Unto the garden gay,
Where he was vex'd to find he had
Four shillings, there to pay.
Yet scarcely had he
pass'd the door,
And to the place got in,
When "here's John Gilpin," all did roar,
And all did laugh and grin.
The ladies, with the
beaus and wits,
Came crouding all around,
And cried, "John Gilpin," is it you,
Pray, whither are you bound?
John answer'd not,
but with his wife
And daughters, went along
To listen to the musick sweet,
And hear a pretty song.
O! charming, cried
the Misses both,
Do, Mama, Papa, hark,
I'm sure, O! dear, that thrilling voice
Is sweeter than the lark.
Aye, aye, cry'd Gilpin,
it will do,
'Tis very fine, in brief,
But I should like much more to hear,
Britannia, or roast beef.
Then turning round,
the trees he view'd,
With orchestre so fine,
The waiters running here, and there,
With chickens, ham, and wine.
But as he turn'd too
suddenly,
'Tis sad the tale to tell,
Against a waiter's hand he struck,
And down a bottle fell.
All in a stream the
wine it flow'd,
Which gave to him much pain;
Yet he for it was forc'd to pay,
And it was dear Champagne.
He thought it hard
to pay for that,
Which he did never taste;
His frugal wife was not well pleas'd,
To see it run to waste.
Such accidents, says
she, my dear,
Will happen, you do know;
But never mind it, we must have
Some wine before we go.
His daughters, as
the story tells,
Thought ham, and chick, right fit,
Because their appetites now serv'd
To pick a little bit.
At this John Gilpin
bent his brow,
His lady cried, "My dear,
"Pray let us do as others do,
"Since we are now come here."
The wine, the ham,
the chick was brought,
With tarts and cheese-cakes too;
On ev'ry thing he comments made,
And carefully did view.
What! two-and-sixpence
for a chick,
He said, was plaugy dear;
The wine was short, he'd rather had
A pot of Trueman's beer.
The wine was Port,
and he survey'd
The bottle in each part,
And cried, I'm sure it wants three gills
To make a little quart.
He eat and grumbl'd
all the while,
He grumbl'd, yet he paid;
For still to pay, was Gilpin's way,
By ev'ry one, 'tis said.
A coach was call'd,
which griev'd him sore,
And so they went away;
But Gilpin thought he ne'er wou'd have
Another holiday.
Now let us sing, long
live the King,
And Gilpin! long live he;
To Vaux-hall shou'd he go again,
May I be there to see.
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