Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart,

This man had his failings-a dupe to his

art.

Like an ill judging beauty, his colours

he spread,

And be-plaster'd with rouge his own natural red.

On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting;

'Twas only that when he was off he was acting.

With no reason on earth to go out of his way,

He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day:

Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick

If they were not his own by finessing and trick:

He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,

For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back.

Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came,

And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame;

Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease,

Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please.

But let us be candid, and speak out our

mind,

If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.

Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls

so grave,

What a commerce was yours while you

got and you gave!

How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you raised,

While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were be-praised!

But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, To act as an angel and mix with the skies:

Those poets, who owe their best fame to his skill,

Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will;

Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love,

And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.

Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant creature,

And slander itself must allow him good nature;

He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper;

Yet one fault he had, and that was a thumper.

Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser?

I answer, no, no, for he always was wiser:

Too courteous perhaps, or obligingly flat?

His very worst foe can't accuse him of that:

Perhaps he confided in men as they go,

And so was too foolishly honest? Ah no!

Then what was his failing? come, tell it, and burn ye,

He was, could he help it? a special attorney.

Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you

my mind,

He has not left a wiser or better behind: His pencil was striking, resistless, and

grand;

His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;

Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our

heart:

To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,

When they judged without skill he was

still hard of hearing;

When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,

He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. By flattery unspoiled. .

Then, over all, that he might be

Equipp'd from top to toe,

His long red cloak, well brush'd and

neat,

He manfully did throw.

Now see him mounted once again

Upon his nimble steed,
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,
With caution and good heed!

But, finding soon a smoother road
Beneath his well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,
Which gall'd him in his seat.

So, Fair and softly, John he cried,
But John he cried in vain;
That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb and rein.

So stooping down, as needs he must
Who cannot sit upright,

He grasp'd the mane with both his hands,

And eke with all his might.

His horse, who never in that sort

Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got

Did wonder more and more.

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
Away went hat and wig!—
He little dreamt, when he set out,
Of running such a rig!

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
Like streamer long and gay,
Till, loop and button failing both,

At last it flew away.

Then might all people well discern
The bottles he had slung;

A bottle swinging at each side,
As hath been said or sung.

The dogs did bark, the children scream'd,
Up flew the windows all;

And ev'ry soul cried out-Well done!
As loud as he could bawl.

Away went Gilpin-who but he?

His fame soon spread aroundHe carries weight! he rides a race! 'Tis for a thousand pound!

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 brac'd;
For all might see the bottle-necks

Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols he did play,
And till he came unto 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, wond'ring 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 tir'd:
Said Gilpin-So am I!

But yet his horse was not a whit
Inclin'd 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, amaz'd 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?

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,

And lov'd a timely joke; And thus unto the calender In merry guise he spoke :

I came because your horse would come;
And, if I well forebode,

My hat and wig will soon be here-
They are upon the road.

The calender, right glad to find

His friend in merry pin, Return'd 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.

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 saidI am in haste to dine;

'Twas for your pleasure you 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 firstFor 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.

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,
And gladly would have done,
The frighted steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went post-boy at his heels!— The post-boy's horse right glad to miss The lumb'ring of the wheels.