Now, mistress Gilpin, when the faw Her husband posting down Into the country far away, She pull'd out half a crown; And thus unto the youth the faid This fhall be your's when you bring back The youth did ride, and foon did meet John coming back amain; Whom in a trice he tried to ftop, By catching at his rein; But, not performing what he meant, Away went Gilpin, and away The poft-boy's horfe right glad to mifs Six gentlemen upon the road, Thus feeing Gilpin fly, With poft-boy fcamp'ring in the rear, They rais'd the hue and cry: Stop thief! ftop thief!-a highwayman! Not one of them was mute; And all and each that pafs'd that way Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike gates again The toll-men thinking, as before, That Gilpin rode a race. And fo he did-and won it too!- For he got firft to town; Nor stopp'd till where he had got up He did again get down. Now let us fing-Long live the king, And, when he next doth ride abroad, THE YEARLY DISTRESS, OR TITHING TIME AT STOCK IN ESSEX: VERSES addreffed to a Country Clergyman complaining the disagreeableness of the day annually appointed for receiving the Dues at the Parfonage. COME, ponder well, for 'tis no jest, To laugh it would be wrong, The troubles of a worthy priest The burden of my song. This prieft he merry is and blithe But oh! it cuts him like a fithe He then is full of fright and fears, For then the farmers come jog, jog, Along the miry road, Each heart, as heavy as a log, To make their payments good. In footh, the forrow of fuch days When he that takes and he that pays Now all, unwelcome, at his gates The clumsy swains alight, With rueful faces and bald pates- And well he may, for well he knows Each bumpkin of the clan, Inftead 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 mifs 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 fit: One wipes his nofe upon his fleeve, One fpits upon the floor, Yet, not to give offence or grieve, The punch goes round, and they are dull And lumpifh ftill as ever; Like barrels with their bellies full, At length the busy time begins: 'Come, neighbours, we muft wag-' The money chinks, down drop their chins, Each lugging out his bag. |