Away went Gilpin-who but he!
His fame soon spread around,
"He carries weight! he rides a race!
'Tis for a thousand pounds!"

And still, as fast as he drew near,
'Twas wonderful to view,
How in a trice the turnpike men
Their gates wide open threw.

And now, as he went bowing down
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,
Until he came into 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 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!"

Air falbh chaidh Iain, cò ach e?
Na miltean air a thòir:

"Is réis tha 'n so! 's cha lugha 'n geall,
Na mìle bonn de'n òr!"

'S a nis, 'n uair dhlùthaich e gu dàn'
Air luchd na cìse cruaidh,
'An tiota thilg iad fosgailte
A' chachaileith gu luath.

'N uair chrom e sìos os ceann an eich
Le 'cheann 'na smùidibh teth,
Bhuail an dà shearraig air a chùl,
'Us spealg 'n am mile bloidh.

Bu mhuladach an sealladh so,

Am fion dearg mar a dhòirt, "Thug smùid á cliathaich an eich dhuinn, Mar cheithreamh muilt-fheòil ròist'.

Gidheadh bha e mar mharcaiche,

A' ruith na réis le 'chrios;

'Us amhach na dà shearraig ghlais,
Ag udal air a leis.

Mar so troimh bhaile Islington,
Faic e le mire 'triall,

'Us fòs a suas troimh Edmonton,
'S a stigh feadh lùb nan giadh.

'S ann 'an sin bha 'phlubartaich,
'S an t-each a' diùltadh smachd,
Mar sgaoth de gheòidh no 'thunnagan
'G an lubradh féin le tlachd.

Aig uinneig ann an Edmonton
Gu-n d' sheas a bhean a suas,
'Us chunnaic i 'dol seachad e
Le iongantas r'a luath's.

"Stad, stad, Iain Ghilpin, so an tigh !"

Gu-n d' ghlaodh iad uile ris,

"Tha'n dinneir réidh, 's tha sinne sgìth;"

"Cha lugh'," ars' Iain, "tha mis'!"

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, Tom Calender's,
His horse at last stood still.

Tom 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 shallSay 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 Tom Calender
In merry guise he spoke;

"I come because your horse would come,
And, if I well forbode,
My hat and wig will soon be here,
They are upon the road."

Tom Calender, right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,
Returned 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.

Ach 's beag an t-suim a ghabh an t-each,
De ghlaodh nam ban gu léir,
Bha prasach mhaith a mhaighstir féin
Deich mìl' air falbh aig Ware.

Mar shaighead luath o làimh na treòir,

O'n iughar righinn, chruaidh,

Gu-n d' theich an t-each-'s tha so 'g am thoirt Gu dara leth mo dhuain.

Air falbh chaidh Iain le séideadh àrd,
'S gu dearbh cha b'ann d'a dheòin,
'S aig dorus tigh' Thom Chalender,
Gu-n d' sheas an t-each faidheòidh.

'N uair chunnaic esan e mar so,
A' teachd gun ad, gun ghruag,
Thilg e 'phìob thombac' air falbh,
'Us ruith e 'mach gu luath.

"Do sgeul, do sgeul-thoir dhomh do sgeul!
Do naigheachd innis dhomh ;
C'arson a tha thu ceann-ruisgte?
C'arson a tha thu 'n so?"

Bha Iain làn a dh' fheala-dhà,
De shùgradh beag, 's de chleas,
'S a réir so ri Tom Calender,

Gu-n d' fhreagair e gu deas;

"Tha mise 'n so, oir thigeadh d' each,
'S mur 'eil mi'm fhàidhe bréig',
Bi'dh m' ad 's mo ghruag 'an so gun dàil,
Oir tha iad as mo dhéigh."

Bha sòlas air Tom Calender,
A charaid 'bhi co ait,

'S cha dubhairt tuille ris 's an àm,
Ach thill e stigh gu grad;

'S a mach gu-n d' thug e ad 'us gruag,— Gruag mhòr nan dualan cruinn,

'Us ad a's gann a chuir e riamh

Seachd uairean air a cheann.

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 I came here,
You shall go back for mine."

Ah! luckless speech, and bootless boast!
For which he paid full dear;
For, while he spake, a braying ass
Did sing most loud and clear;

Whereat his horse did snort, as he
Had heard a lion roar,

And gallop'd off with all his might,
As he had done before.

Away went Gilpin, and away
Went Gilpin's hat and wig:
He lost them sooner than at first,
For why? they were too big.

Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw

Her husband posting down

Into the country far away,

She pull'd out half-a-crown;

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."