Who swore that my powers pugilistics were spent,
And I couldn’t inflict in fresh butter a dent.
That I’ve not the same powers I’m free to deplore,
As when I floor’d Byrne and a great many more;
All out-and-out fancy boys, fearless and free,
Then the Deaf’un aspired to be top of the tree.
But lush and late hours, ’twould be folly to doubt,
For a time wore my frame and my energies out;
First Bendigo gave me a punishing dose,
And I then by Nick Ward was consign’d to repose.