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 neighbour 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 forebode,
My hat and wig will soon be here;
They are upon the road."