Yet, sprightly to the scratch, both Buffers came, [4]

While ribbers rung from each resounding frame, And divers digs, and many a ponderous pelt, Were on their broad bread-baskets heard and felt. [5]

With roving aim, but aim that rarely miss'd Round lugs and ogles flew the frequent fist; [6]

While showers of facers told so deadly well, That the crush'd jaw-bones crackled as they fell!

But firmly stood Entellus--and still bright, Though bent by age, with all the Fancy's light, [7]

Stopp'd with a skill, and rallied with a fire The immortal Fancy could alone inspire!

While Dares, shifting round, with looks of thought.

An opening to the cove's huge carca.s.s sought (Like General Preston, in that awful hour, When on one leg he hopp'd to--take the Tower!), And here, and there, explored with active fin, And skilful feint, some guardless pa.s.s to win, And prove a boring guest when once let in.

And now Entellus, with an eye that plann'd Punishing deeds, high raised his heavy hand; But ere the sledge came down, young Dares spied Its shadow o'er his brow, and slipped aside-- So nimbly slipp'd, that the vain n.o.bber pa.s.s'd Through empty air; and He, so high, so vast, Who dealt the stroke, came thundering to the ground!-- Not B-ck--gh-m himself, with balkier sound, Uprooted from the field of Whiggist glories, Fell souse, of late, among the astonish'd Tories!

Instant the ring was broke, and shouts and yells From Trojan Flashmen and Sicilian Swells Fill'd the wide heaven--while, touch'd with grief to see His pall, well-known through many a lark and spree, [8]

Thus rumly floor'd, the kind Ascestes ran, [9]

And pitying rais'd from earth the game old man.

Uncow'd, undamaged to the sport he came, His limbs all muscle, and his soul all flame.

The memory of his milling glories past, [10]

The shame that aught but death should see him gra.s.s'd.

All fired the veteran's pluck--with fury flush'd, Full on his light-limb'd customer he rush'd,-- And hammering right and left, with ponderous swing [11]

Ruffian'd the reeling youngster round the ring-- Nor rest, nor pause, nor breathing-time was given But, rapid as the rattling hail from heaven Beats on the house-top, showers of Randall's shot Around the Trojan's lugs fell peppering hot!

'Till now Aeneas, fill'd with anxious dread, Rush'd in between them, and, with words well-bred, Preserved alike the peace and Dares' head, Both which the veteran much inclined to break-- Then kindly thus the punish'd youth bespake: "Poor Johnny Raw! what madness could impel So rum a Flat to face so prime a Swell?

See'st thou not, boy, the Fancy, heavenly maid, Herself descends to this great Hammerer's aid, And, singling him from all her flash adorers, Shines in his. .h.i.ts, and thunders in his floorers?

Then, yield thee, youth,--nor such a spooney be, To think mere man can mill a Deity!"

Thus spoke the chief--and now, the scrimmage o'er, His faithful pals the done-up Dares bore Back to his home, with tottering gams, sunk heart, And muns and noddle pink'd in every part.

While from his gob the guggling claret gush'd [12]

And lots of grinders, from their sockets crush'd [13]

Forth with the crimson tide in rattling fragments rush'd!

[1: hands; head]

[2: fellows, usually young fellows]

[3: pugilism]

[4: men]

[5: stomachs]

[6: ears and eyes]

[7: [Notes]]

[8: friend; frolic]

[9: heavily]

[10: fighting]

[11: dealing blows]

[12: blood]

[13: teeth]

YA-HIP, MY HEARTIES!

[1819]

[From MOORE'S _Tom Crib's Memorial to Congress_:--"Sung by Jack Holmes, the Coachman, at a late Masquerade in St Giles's, in the character of Lord C--st--e--on ... This song which was written for him by Mr. Gregson, etc."].

I

I first was hired to _peg a Hack_ [1]

They call "The Erin" sometime back, Where soon I learned to _patter flash_, [2]

To curb the t.i.ts, and tip the lash-- [3]

Which pleased _the Master of_ The Crown So much, he had me up to town, And gave me _lots_ of _quids_ a year, [4]

To _tool_ "The Const.i.tutions" here. [5]

So, ya-hip, hearties, here am I That drive the Const.i.tution Fly.

II

Some wonder how the Fly holds out, So rotten 'tis, within, without; So loaded too, through thick and thin, And with such _heavy_ creturs IN.

But, Lord, 't will last our time--or if The wheels should, now and then, get stiff, Oil of Palm's the thing that, flowing, [6]

Sets the naves and felloes going.

So ya-hip, _Hearties_! etc.

III

Some wonder, too, the _t.i.ts_ that pull This _rum concern_ along, so full, Should never _back_ or _bolt_, or kick The load and driver to Old Nick.

But, never fear, the breed, though British, Is now no longer _game_ or skittish; Except sometimes about their corn, Tamer _Houghnhums_ ne'er were born.

So ya-hip, _Hearties_, etc.

IV

And then so sociably we ride!-- While some have places, snug, inside, Some hoping to be there anon.

Through many a dirty road _hang on_.

And when we reach a filthy spot (Plenty of which there are, G.o.d wot), You'd laugh to see with what an air We _take_ the spatter--each his share.

So ya-hip, _Hearties_! etc.

[1: drive a hackney-coach]

[2: talk slang]

[3: horses; whip]

[4: money]

[5: drive]

[6: money]

SONNETS FOR THE FANCY: AFTER THE MANNER OF PETRARCH [Notes]

[_c._ 1824]

[From _Boxiana_, iii. 621. 622].

_Education._

A link-boy once, d.i.c.k h.e.l.lfinch stood the grin, At Charing Cross he long his toil apply'd; "Here light, here light! your honours for a win," [1]

To every cull and drab he loudly cried. [2]

In Leicester Fields, as most the story know, "Come black your worship for a single mag," [3]

And while he shin'd his Nelly suck'd the bag, [4]

And thus they sometimes stagg'd a precious go. [5]

In Smithfield, too, where graziers' flats resort, He loiter'd there to take in men of cash, With cards and dice was up to ev'ry sport, And at Saltpetre Bank would cut a dash; A very knowing rig in ev'ry gang, [6]