The tradesman he laughed at this pitiful sneer, And drew from his pocket, unmoved by the jeer Of the gathering dæmons, blue, yellow, and pink, A bottle of blacking more sable than ink;―― With the waves of the Styx in a jiffey they tried it, But the waves of the Styx looked foolish beside it; “You mote as well liken the summer sky,” Quoth Warren the bold, “with an Irish stye; The nightingale’s note with the cockatoo’s whine, As your lily-white river with me or mine.” Round the brow of Abaddon fierce anger played At the Strand manufacturer’s gasconade; And lifting a fist that mote slaughter an ox, He wrathfully challenged his foeman to box; Then summoned each dæmon to form a ring, And witness his truculent triumphing.―― The ring was formed and the twain set to, Like little Puss with Belasco the Jew. Satan was seconded in a crack, By Molineux, the American black, (Who sported an oath as a civil Salam), While Warren was backed by the ghost of Dutch Sam.―― Gentles, who fondly peruse these lays, Wild as a colt o’er the moorland that strays, Who thrill at each wondrous rede I tell, As fancy roams o’er the floor of hell, Now list ye with kindness, the whiles I rehearse In shapely pugilistic verse, (Albeit my fancy preferreth still The quiet of nature,) this desperate _Mill_. THE FIGHT. Both men on _peeling_ showed nerve and bone. And weighed on an average _fourteen stone_; Doffed their silk _fogle_, for battle agog, _Yellowman_, _castor_ and white upper _tog_; Then sparred for a second their ardor to cool, And rushed at each other like bull to bull. ROUNDS. 1. Was a _smasher_, for Brummagem Bob[89] Let fly a _topper_ on Beelzebub’s _nob_; Then followed him over the ring with ease, And _doubled him up_ by a blow in the _squeeze_. 2. Satan was cautious in making play, But stuck to his sparring and pummelled away; Till the _ogles_ of Warren looked _queer_ in their hue, (Here, bets upon Beelzebub; three to two.) 3. _Fibbings_, and _facers_, and _toppers_ abound, But Satan, it seems, hath the worst of the round. 4. Satan was floored by a _lunge_ in the hip, And the blood from his peepers, went drip, drip, drip, Like fat from a goose in the dripping pan, Or ale from the brim of a flowing can; His _box of dominos_ chattered aloud, (Here, “Go it, Nick!” from an imp in the crowd,) And he dropped with a _Lancashire purr_ on his back, While Bob with a _clincher_ fell over him, whack. 5. Both men _piping_ came up to the _scratch_, But Bob for Abaddon was more than a match; He _tapped_ his _claret_, his mug he rent, And made him so _groggy_ with _punishment_, That he gladly gave in at the close of the round, And Warren in triumph was led from the ground.