At seven in the morning both men were on the ground, Heenan floored the gallant champion in nearly every round, The claret flew in torrents,--each other they did fib, There’s never been such a battle since the days of old Tom Cribb. They two hours and six minutes fought--each proved himself a man, And neither of them would give in while he’d a leg to stand, But the fight was all in favour of the brave Benicia boy, When the bobbies bolted in the ring, and did his hopes destroy. Tom Sayers said he soon would lick the Yankee doodle doo, But Tom found out at Farnborough, he’d have his work to do. I’ll bet a pound to half a crown, and stake it all myself, If they fight again, the Yankee boy, will carry off the belt. When Heenan was in Derbyshire, preparing for the fight, They hunted him, like bloodhounds, in the middle of the night. But he was nothing daunted, but to the ring did fly, Determined that he’d conquer, gain the victory, or die. There never were two better men, and none could be more game, They are both two gallant heroes of honour and of fame. Then fill a flowing bumper, and jovially drink their health, May the best man win and conquer, and carry off the belt. When Heenan came to England, far from a distant land, They said he was a fool to come, to face an Englishman, But they were all mistaken when they saw the glorious battle, Heenan cooked the champion’s bacon, and made his daylights rattle. OF course, it was only in the nature and fitness of things that Henry Russell’s extremely popular song, “I’m Afloat,” should be parodied, and of all that I remember, I think the following was most sung in the streets. The present _Cad_, or ’_Arry_, is bad enough in all conscience, but the _Gent_ of those days was worse. How Albert Smith did scarify him! [Illustration] _I’M A GENT._ I’M a Gent, I’m a Gent, I’m a Gent ready made, I roam through the Quadrant and Lowther Arcade, I’m a registered swell from my head to my toe, I wear a moustache, and a light paletot. I’ve a cane in my hand, and a glass in my eye, And I wink at the girls, demme! as they go by, Then lor! how they giggle to win my regards, And I hear them all say--He’s a gent in the Guards. I’m a Gent, I’m a Gent, in the Regent Street style, Examine my wesket, and look at my tile, There are gents, I dare say, who are handsomer far, But none who can puff with such ease, a cigar. I can sing a flash song, I can play on the horn, I like Sherry Cobblers, I’m fond of Cremorne, I love the Cellarius,[19] the Polka[20] I dance, And I’m rather attached to a party from France. This gal I adore is a creature divine, Though devilishly partial to lobsters and wine, She was struck with my figure--and caught--with a hook, For I took her to visit my uncle the duke.