But knowing till his race was run
His horse would not stand still.

His hat was gone, his W(h)ig also,
His cloak he had to clutch.
Could he hold on? A mile or two
Would put it to the touch.

A church-bell clanging, scared his steed,
Pigs dashed betwixt its feet;
And on his own beloved North Road,
JOHN _almost_ lost his seat.

On the North Road, his sometime friends,
Their sometime favourite spied,
Well-nigh dismounted, wondering much,
To see how he did ride.

"Ride straight, JOHN GILPIN--for the House!"
JOHN's Liberal Dame did cry.
"The Party waits, and we feel tired."
Said GILPIN--"So do I!"

But yet his horse was not a whit
Inclined due North to stay;
For why?--his stables at the House
Were out Westminster way.

So like an arrow swift he flew
Back southward through the throng,