The star of Westminster as tough, as bold,
Who cried peccavi to Dutch Sam the old.
What though awhile, the public to amuse,
Through London streets he circulated news,
Doom’d for a time from East to West to trip,
And barter broadsheets for the ready tip?
“By heaven!” he cried, “to fighting fame I’ll soar,
And sporting journals I will vend no more,
Of adverse fate I’ll overleap the bar,
And follow to the Ring some milling star;