Their gates wide open threw.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

And now, as he went bowing down
His reeking head full low,
The bottles twain behind his back
Were shattered at a blow.

Down ran the wine into the road,
Most piteous to be seen,
Which made the horse's flanks to smoke,
As they had basted been.

[Illustration]

But still he seemed to carry weight.
With leathern girdle braced;
For all might see the bottle-necks
Still dangling at his waist.

[Illustration]

Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols he did play,
Until he came unto the Wash