That he acted unfairly I do not advance―― He was perfectly right not to part with a chance; Still I say, but for this, whosoever may scoff, He would not have easily polished me off. And may I again never put on a glove, If once more I don’t fight him for money or love; And my stick I will cut in the Prize Ring, by Jove! Ere the belt shall be worn by a Nottingham cove. And shall poor Deaf Burke be consign’d to the shade? No, tho’ I’m defeated I am not dismay’d, And in a fresh contest I’ll do what I can, To take the conceit from this bounceable man. When victory smiles on a pugilist’s front, He has lots of supporters and plenty of blunt; But if luck turns against him, my eyes! how they rave, And stamp him a cross cove――a thundering knave! Into me some choice worthies keep pitching it home, For sporting the _statutes_ of Greece and of Rome; Is it fair, I would ax, to inflict this here slap, Because I’m a sort of a classical chap? And some swear ’tis time I was laid on the shelf, For I grows _’ristocratic_――too sweet on myself; Now I wenture most humbly to make an appeal, If I’m to be blam’d for behaving genteel? In France and New York I have sported my tanners, And no wonder a polish I have got on my manners; Now, I begs to inquire whether winner or loser, Must a man be a blackguard because he’s a bruiser? No, to tip the purlite I will still do my best, For everything wulgar I scorn and detest; My pipe I’ve discarded like most other stars, And now I smoke nowt but Hawanna cigars. And I dare say some folks may consider it strange, That I’m courting the Muses by way of a change, And thus in _Bell’s Life_ to my feelings give went, In a copy of werses I’ve called “The Lament.” Be this as it may, here I’m ready and willing This Bendy again to encounter at milling, And perhaps if I once get him into a line, Tho’ the first chance was his’n, the next may be mine. That “next chance,” as Edgar Poe’s raven said, “never, never, never more” came to the turn of the Deaf’un, so far as regarded a meeting with Bendy, although he issued sundry invitations and offers. In March, 1840, occurred the accident to Bendigo, narrated at page 25, which struck the Nottingham hero from the list of “wranglers” for the Championship, and hereupon Burke again came to the front with a challenge. This was quickly responded to by Nick Ward, the younger brother of the renowned Jem. The match was made for the modest sum of £50 a side, and the day fixed for Tuesday, the 22nd September, 1840. The battle, which took place at Lillingstone Level, Oxfordshire, will be found in detail in the Life of Nick Ward, Chapter V. of the present volume.