Besides this nobly patronised amphitheatre of Fig, there were several booths and rings strongly supported. That in Smithfield, we have it upon good authority, was presided over by one “Mr. Andrew Johnson,” asserted to be an uncle of the great lexicographer,[15] There was also that in Moorfields, called at times “the booth,” at others “the ring.” The “ring” was kept by an eccentric character known as “Old Vinegar,” the “booth” by Rimmington, whose _sobriquet_ was “Long Charles.” This, it appears, had a curious emblazonment,—a skull and cross-bones on a black ground, inscribed “Death or Victory.” During the high tide of Fig’s prosperity (1733) occurred the battle between Bob Whitaker and the Venetian Gondolier, narrated under the head of “WHITAKER.” Let it not be thought that Fig, among his many antagonists, was without a rival. Sutton, the Gravesend Pipemaker, already mentioned, publicly dared the mighty Fig to the combat, and met him with alternate success, till a third trial “proved the fact” of Fig’s superiority. These contests, though given in all the “Chronologies” and “Histories” of the Ring, were neither more nor less than cudgel-matches, as will be seen by the subjoined contemporary verses by Dr. John Byrom. They are printed in “Dodsley’s Collection,” vol. vi., p. 312, under the title of— EXTEMPORE VERSES UPON A TRIAL OF SKILL BETWEEN THOSE TWO GREAT MASTERS OF DEFENCE, MESSIEURS FIG AND SUTTON. I. Long was the great Fig, by the prize-fighting swains, Sole monarch acknowledged of Marybone plains, To the towns far and near did his glory extend, And swam down the river from Thame to Gravesend, Where lived Mister Sutton, pipemaker by trade, Who hearing that Fig was thought such a stout blade, Resolved to go in for a share of his fame, And so sent a challenge to the Champion of Thame. II. With alternate advantage two trials had past, When they fought out the rubber on Wednesday last; To see such a contest, the house was quite full, There hardly was room to thrust in your skull. With a prelude of cudgels we first were saluted, And two or three shoulders were handsomely fluted, Till, weary at last with inferior disasters, All the company cried, “The Masters! the Masters!” III. Whereupon the bold Sutton first mounted the stage, Made his honours as usual, and yearned to engage; When Fig, with a visage so fierce, yet sedate, Came and entered the lists with his fresh shaven pate; Their arms were encircled with armigers too, With a red ribbon Sutton’s, and Fig’s with a blue. Thus advanced the two heroes, ’tween shoulder and elbow, Shook hands, and went to’t, and the word it was, “Bilbo!”