Away went Gilpin, and away Went postboy at his heels, The postboy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road, Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With postboy scampering in the rear, They raised the hue and cry:--
"Stop thief! stop thief!--a highwayman!" Not one of them was mute; And all and each that passed that way Did join in the pursuit.
And now the turnpike-gates again Flew open in short space; The toll-man thinking, as before, That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did, and won it too, For he got first to town; Nor stopped till where he had got up He did again get down.
Now let us sing, "Long live the king, And Gilpin, long live he; And when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see!"
In Köln, a town of monks and bones, And pavements fanged with murderous stones, And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches,-- I counted two-and-seventy stenches, All well-defined and several stinks! Ye nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks, The river Rhine, it is well known, Doth wash your city of Cologne; But tell me, nymphs! what power divine Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?
Sly Beelzebub took all occasions To try Job's constancy and patience. He took his honor, took his health; He took his children, took his wealth, His servants, oxen, horses, cows-- But cunning Satan did _not_ take his spouse.
But Heaven, that brings out good from evil, And loves to disappoint the devil, Had predetermined to restore _Twofold_ all he had before; His servants, horses, oxen, cows-- Short-sighted devil, not to take his spouse!
Hoarse Mævius reads his hobbling verse To all, and at all times, And finds them both divinely smooth, His voice as well as rhymes.
Yet folks say Mævius is no ass; But Mævius makes it clear That he's a monster of an ass,-- An ass without an ear!
Swans sing before they die,--'t were no bad thing Did certain persons die before they sing.
A fellow in a market-town, Most musical, cried razors up and down, And offered twelve for eighteen pence; Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap, And, for the money, quite a heap, As every man would buy, with cash and sense.
A country bumpkin the great offer heard,-- Poor Hodge, who suffered by a broad black beard, That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose: With cheerfulness the eighteen pence he paid, And proudly to himself in whispers said, "This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.