And hard-drinking, hard-hitting, shifting Dutch Sam;
Think on old Ikey Pig, and Big Bittoon, who knows thee,
With the rush of a lion, yet mild as a lamb.
What though Mrs. Aaron thy mug may delight in,
And thinking of black eyes, turns fretful and wan?
She’ll say, when convinced that you really mean fighting,
“Mine husband, Cot plesh him, ’s a brave little man.”
I’ll own that as good as e’er pulled off a shirt is
The lad I now call to the old milling game;
And remember, friend Barney, though challenged by Curtis,