Oh it's bully when I land 'em with a counter on the jaw,
When the ruby's all a drippin' and the conks are red and raw;
And it's bully when I've downed 'em, and the lords are standin'
booze,
Them lords with shiny shirt-fronts, and their patent-leather shoes.
But you'd best look jolly meek
When you're up afore the beak,
For they hustle you, and bustle you, and treat you like a dog.
And its 'Olloway for you
For a month or may be two,
Where the Widow keeps a mansion and purvides you with your prog.
It was 'ero 'ere and 'ero there, I might 'ave been a King,
For to 'ear 'em 'ip 'urraying as I stepped into the ring,
When I faced the Tipton Slasher, me and 'im in four-ounce gloves,
Just to make us look as 'armless as a pair o' bloomin' doves.
Then I bruises 'im and batters,
And 'e cuts my lips to tatters,
And I gives 'im 'alf a dozen where 'is peepers ought to be.
And 'e flattens out my nose
With a brace of bally blows,
Which I 'ardly 'ad expected from a pug as couldn't see.
Next round the Slasher's groggy, 'e 'angs 'is 'ands and gropes
(I'd knocked him orf 'is legs at last) a-feelin' for the ropes.
And, lor, 'e looked so cheerful with 'is face a mask of red
That I bust myself with laughin' when I bashed 'im on the 'ead.
Then they counted up to ten,
But 'e couldn't rise again;
'E gasped a bit, and puffed a bit, and laid there in a 'eap.
And I copped a thousand pounds
For a fight of seven rounds,
Which was all the time it took me for to put my man to sleep.
Ah, the soft uns call it brutal; there's Mr. H.P. COBB,
And 'is talk, which isn't pretty, about ruffians (meanin' us).
I'd like to tap _'is_ claret when 'e's up and on the job,
And send 'im 'ome a 'owlin' to 'is mammy or 'is nuss.
But I'd rather take the chuck
For a show of British pluck,
And do my month in chockee, and eat my skilly free;
And I'll leave the curs to snivel
With their 'Ouse o' Commons drivel,
Which may suit a pack of jaw-pots, but, by gosh, it don't suit me.
* * * * *
"What I suffer from, at this time of year, when I go into the
country," says Mrs. R., "is 'Flybites.'" She pronounced it as a word
of three syllables, and then added, "I rather think the learned way of
spelling it is 'Phlybites.'"
* * * * *
[Illustration: CORIOLANUS.
"I WOULD HE HAD CONTINU'D TO HIS COUNTRY
AS HE BEGAN, AND NOT UNKNIT, HIMSELF,
THE NOBLE KNOT HE MADE."--_Coriolanus_, Act. IV., Scene 2.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: HENGENIOUS IDEA.
_Early Visitor._ "WHY, WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING, MATHILDE,--TURNING
YOUR BOUDOIR INTO A POULTRY YARD?"
_Mathilde._ "WELL, MY DEAR, AS IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO RELY ON GETTING
NEW-LAID EGGS IN TOWN, I HAVE HAD MY PET COCHIN-CHINA UP FROM THE
COUNTRY, AND SHE IS THOROUGHLY TO BE TRUSTED!"]
* * * * *