That no prize fight or milling match should then and there take place;
And how the pugilists themselves looked very down and blank,
While the spectators made a move both retrograde and flank—
And how they managed after all to give the traps the slip,
And hastening back to Sawbridgeworth prepared at once to strip;
How seventy gallant rounds were fought ’till deepening shades of night
With its extinguisher forbade the finish of the fight—
And how the assembled multitude with sundry rueful shrugs,
Homeward retraced their weary way with disappointed mugs;
And how in Despond’s dismal slough a lot of worthies fell—