With a sufficit quantum of courage—and guineas—
To lower thy caput, my Flower of the West.
You fought Peter Warren a hundred to ninety,
Then why not fight me for the first-mention’d name?
But being all bounce you the scratch will not come to,
To show your much-vaunted pretensions to fame.
You say that the ochre—the metal—the rhino,
Is flush ’mong the Sheenies of Petticoat Lane;
’Tish more scarsh nor you think—I vish it vash mine, oh!
I’d fight for my losht reputation again.