XX MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. 



Old Time changed his views on the heavy-weight style, 



And beckoned Tom Sayers to advance, 

 From a cot on the silver coast of our isle, 



As a standing caution to France ; 

 How "England and five-foot-eight" can smile, 



When she threatens to break a lance ! 



Right hard was the future Champion's strife, 



But his arm was not fated to moulder ; 

 He toiled for eight years up the ladder of life, 



With mortar and bricks on his shoulder ! 

 And he thirsted to preach 'gainst " The Use of the Knife," 



With " a brick" for a bottle-holder ! 



Full oft in each hodman's heart that bout 



A proud recollection stirs, 

 When at noon Tom challenged their tyrant out 



For a tournay among the furze ; 

 And Wandsworth ne'er heard such a jubilant shout 



As arose when he won his spurs. 



Then forward he strode on his laurelled war, 



And still not a backer tired ; 

 For to boxers eleven he left, by my fay, 



" Nothing further to be desired :" 

 And he only rued that October day, 



When to tackle " Quid Nat" he aspired. 



Then straightway across the Atlantic waves, 



The Clipper of New York wrote 

 " Our fearless American eagle craves 



To silence your gamecock's note : 

 By the mighty Pollux ! who sains and saves, 



His talons he'll plant on his throat ! 



" From their eyries our countless eaglets soar 



'Mid the pine-forest crags of the West ; 

 Scarce a living soul was left in the store 



When Hyer of the dauntless breast 

 Met Yankee Sullivan, game to the core, 



And made him leave off second-best. 



" County M'Cleester is out of employ, 



Though his hitting's almighty tall ; 

 Our belt is John Morrissy's hard-earned toy, 



For thirteen battles in all : 

 But Heenan, the gallant Benicia Boy, 



Is the man to make Sayers sing small ! 



" They may say, if they like, that pure Irish blood 



Is flowing in every vein ; 

 With John in the school-room at Troy he stood, 



And flinched from the self-same cane : 



