KNOCKED OUT.

By Mr. R*d**rd Kplng.

Oh it's bully when I land 'em with a counter on the jaw,

When the ruby's all a drippin' and the conks are red and raw;

And it's bully when I've downed 'em, and the lords are standin' booze,

Them lords with shiny shirt-fronts, and their patent-leather shoes.

But you'd best look jolly meek

When you're up afore the beak,

For they hustle you, and bustle you, and treat you like a dog.

And its 'Olloway for you

For a month or may be two,

Where the Widow keeps a mansion and purvides you with your prog.

It was 'ero 'ere and 'ero there, I might 'ave been a King,

For to 'ear 'em 'ip 'urraying as I stepped into the ring,

When I faced the Tipton Slasher, me and 'im in four-ounce gloves,

Just to make us look as 'armless as a pair o' bloomin' doves.

Then I bruises 'im and batters,

And 'e cuts my lips to tatters,

And I gives 'im 'alf a dozen where 'is peepers ought to be.

And 'e flattens out my nose

With a brace of bally blows,

Which I 'ardly 'ad expected from a pug as couldn't see.

Next round the Slasher's groggy, 'e 'angs 'is 'ands and gropes

(I'd knocked him orf 'is legs at last) a-feelin' for the ropes.

And, lor, 'e looked so cheerful with 'is face a mask of red

That I bust myself with laughin' when I bashed 'im on the 'ead.

Then they counted up to ten,

But 'e couldn't rise again;

'E gasped a bit, and puffed a bit, and laid there in a 'eap.

And I copped a thousand pounds

For a fight of seven rounds,

Which was all the time it took me for to put my man to sleep.

Ah, the soft uns call it brutal; there's Mr. H.P. COBB,

And 'is talk, which isn't pretty, about ruffians (meanin' us).

I'd like to tap 'is claret when 'e's up and on the job,

And send 'im 'ome a 'owlin' to 'is mammy or 'is nuss.

But I'd rather take the chuck

For a show of British pluck,

And do my month in chockee, and eat my skilly free;

And I'll leave the curs to snivel

With their 'Ouse o' Commons drivel,

Which may suit a pack of jaw-pots, but, by gosh, it don't suit me.

"What I suffer from, at this time of year, when I go into the country," says Mrs. R., "is 'Flybites.'" She pronounced it as a word of three syllables, and then added, "I rather think the learned way of spelling it is 'Phlybites.'"

KNOCKED OUT.

By Mr. R*d**rd K*pl*ng.

By Mr. R*d**rd Kplng.