He says the valiant king "enacts More wonders than a man; " In fact, is doing what he can't, Instead of what he can. That all on foot the tyrant fights, Seeks Bichmond, and will follow him Into the very "throat of Death"-- No wonder Death should swallow him! Now meeting on a sudden, Each going the opposite way, Richard and Richmond both advance, Their valour to display. Says Richard, "Now for one of us, Or both, the time is come." Says Bichmond, "Till I've settled this, By Jove, I won't go home." One, two, strikes Richard with his foil, When Richmond, getting fierce, Repeats three, four, and on they go, With parry, quatre, and tierce. Till suddenly the tyrant Is brought unto a stand; His weapon snaps itself in twain, The hilt is in his hand. The gen'rous Richmond turns aside, Till someone at the wing Another weapon to the foe Good-naturedly doth fling. Richard advances with a rush; Richmond in turn retires; Their weapons, every time they meet, Flash with electric fires. Posterity, that occupies Box, gallery, and pit, Applauds the pair alternately, As each one makes a hit. Now "Bravo, Richmond!" is the cry, Till Richard plants a blow With good effect, when to his side Round the spectators go. As fickle still as when at first, The nation, undecided, Was 'twixt the Roses White and Red Alternately divided, So does the modern audience Incline, with favour strongest, To him who in the contest seems Likely to last the longest. Then harsher sounds the trumpet, And deeper rolls the drum, Till both have had enough of it, When Richard must succumb. Flatly he falls upon the ground, Declaring, when he's down, He envies Bichmond nothing else, Except the vast renown Which he has certainly acquired By being made to yield Himself, that had been hitherto The master of the field. And then the soldiers, who have stood Some distance from the fray, Bush in to take their portion of The glory of the day. And men with banners in their hands, At eighteen-pence a night, Some with red roses on the flags, And some with roses white, By shaking them together, The colours gently blend, And the Battle of the Roses Is for ever at an end. [Illustration: 347]