A pugilist wrote the following epitaph for his tombstone:—
“Farewell, ye honours of my brow,
Victorious wreaths, farewell!
One blow from Death has laid me low,
By whom such brave ones fell.
Yet bravely I’ll dispute the prize,
Nor yield, though out of breath,
’Tis not a fall—I yet shall rise,
And conquer even Death!”
Of which rhymes we can conscientiously say the anonymous “brother pugilist” of Ben need not have been ashamed; for far worse have been written on marble by “unco’ guid folk” who would scorn to bestow a glance on the grave of a boxer.