‘Bout friendship or fighting he can’t make a speech,
O’ the latter he’d much rather practise than preach.
A lapse of ten years or more soon roll’d away,
Since Afric’s brave bully proclaim’d it Tom’s day;
He then, like a game cock, retired with his pickings,
In peace to provide for his old hen and chickens;
When, lo! a cock crow’d on his walk in the west,
Supposing ‘Old Tom’ of Old Tom had the best;
But Tom left his ‘Hodges,’ gout, crutches, behind,
Reducing his belly, increasing his wind:—