Let Puritans sour in accents shrill

Rave against Fistiana still,

And owl-faced beaks shake the nob and vow

To their fiat stern the Ring shall bow;

Let lobsters raw with their truncheons roar

“Disperse” to the pugilistic corps—

The pinks of the Prize Ring, in freedom nurs’d

Shall tell them undaunted to do their worst—

Shall proclaim to the traps ’tis weak and vain

To seek the brave boxer to restrain;