Your mind was made up to be Champion yourself;
And you dar’d all the world to contend for the prize,
While you barred neither country, nor colour, nor size.
This was all wastly well, but how came you to trot
Ere you knew if your challenge was answer’d or not,
And to cut from your quarters in London adrift
On the coming consarn between Adams and Swift?
I tell you, my Deaf ’un, without any flourish,
Your conduct appears most confoundedly currish;
And as straightforward dealing was always my plan,