And springy to a boxer's feet;
At harvest hum the moon so bright
Did shine on Wood Top for the fight.
When Bill was stripped down to his bends
I thought how long we two'd been friends,
And in my mind, about that wire,
I thought 'He's right, I am a liar,
As sure as skilly's made in prison
The right to poach that copse is his'n.
I'll have no luck to-night,' thinks I.