"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!" 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 the calender's His horse at last stood still. The calender, amazed to see His neighbor 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 bareheaded you are come, Or why you come at all?" Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, And loved a timely joke; And thus unto the calender In merry guise he spoke: "I came because your horse would come; And, if I well forbode, 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.