You came not to our land the gauntlet down to fling. Here to no conquest you aspired within our battle ring, But ready to come forward still at Friendship’s special call, To take a fragrant pipe of weed and cordial cup withal. “But yet I love my native land, and scorn each action base, And never _Craven_ act of mine a _Freeman_ shall disgrace; Whoever dares me to the fight, by no proud threat’ning scar’d, Will find me anxious still for peace, and yet for war prepared!” “By Heavens!” cried Johnny Broome, “my pink, tho’ nothing you’re afraid of, I have a Novice in the Ring who’ll try what stuff you’re made of; Deposits shall be duly made, and matters go on snugly, And there you’ll meet a customer as rum as he is ugly. “One who professes bull-dog game I to the scratch will bring, Welcome to whom is punishment as flowers in early spring; One who in contest fierce and long, ‘Enough!’ has never cried, But rushes forward to his man, and will not be denied. “The same to him is Briton bold and Transatlantic foeman, With courage at the sticking-place like ancient Greek or Roman; Regardless still of body hits, or on the snout a smasher, BILL PERRY is the trump I mean, the slaughtering Tipton Slasher!” “Bravo! bold Johnny,” Freeman cried, “then to your text be steady, Fixed be the time, as well as place, and Freeman’s tin is ready; Into condition get your friend as early as you can, And trust me I will do my best to floor your Tipton man.” The heroes trained as fine as stars, with gallantry untam’d, And in December’s dreary month the day of fight was nam’d; “Who heeds,” the Slasher cried, “dark days, cold blast, or storm? We’ll have sufficient work cut out to keep our systems warm. “Tho’ twixt the Giant and myself the difference is great, I care not for his stature high, I care not for his weight, Nor for his wondrous length of reach does Perry care a whit; And where so huge a carcase shows, the easier ’tis to hit.” Thus to Big Caunt the Giant cried, “My friend, ’tis time to trot, But bear me witness ere we start, this fight I courted not; My manly foe, I do not doubt, possesses thorough game. But if he falls ’tis he alone and Johnny Broome to blame. “Tho’ with your gallant countrymen peace was my only aim, Boston, New York, and Washington my prowess can proclaim, And never in my proud career white feather did I show; Nor ever cut a friend in need, nor shrunk before a foe.” December sixth in darkness broke, the dawn was chill and damp, And numerous Fancy toddlers betimes were on the tramp; Corinthian swells and commoners made simultaneous rush To Sawbridgeworth, in Hertfordshire, through muck, and mire, and slush.