Unrivall’d still in gallantry and game.
As lightning quick to dart upon thy foe,
And in the dust to lay his glories low,
The palm of victory forcing him to yield,
And sing “Peccavi” on the battle-field;
Adieu, thou pride and wonder of the age,
The brightest star on Fistiana’s page,
Where records of your manly deeds are stor’d,
The pinks you’ve pepper’d, and the trumps you’ve floored!
Why should we mourn of Perkins the sad tale,