Each bottle had a curling ear, Through which the belt he drew, And hung a bottle on each side, To make his balance true.
Then over all, that he might be Equipped from top to toe, His long-red cloak, well brushed 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 galled 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 grasped 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 naught; 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.