 | Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn
|  |
|
Round the Second.
Spring shewed the same strong guard, but ever ready for action.
Neat began to breathe short, when, wap! came a flushy right-hander,
Plump on his fore-head, and, lo! the stream of the claret was flowing,
Sanguine as butchers will bleed, not at all like the ichor of angels.
Out did he hit to the right—Spring sprung back—Neat again tried it,
But, on the side of the head, he got such a lump of a twister,
That he was turned quite round, and nearly saluted his mother.
Stupid and senseless he looked like a young whig lawyer of Embro'—
(Some little mealy-faced pup, amazed with a recent suffusion
From the uplisted leg of some big boardly bull-dog of Blackwood)—
Then did the hooting arise, from various people indignant;
And, in the hubbub loud, “Cross, Cross!” was frequently mentioned.
This brought Neat to his senses, and straight he took to in-fighting.
Bloody hard hits came from both—'twas head-work chiefly between them:
Down in the end went Neat, and blue looked the betters of Bristol!
| Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn
| |
|
