But of all the young bloods of Rialto’s fast race,
Not one sweller was costumed than thou!
Beheld one the shining patent leather of thy shoe,
And both hands decorated with rings;
Marked thy wiles through which dude hoi polloi’s favor doth woo,
One would say: “All from effeminacy springs!”
“Not a bit!” I must answer. For Mack, Sport as well,
Was a crack shot with pistol and ball;
How he hunted, coldblooded, dumb beasts he did tell;
Furry creatures clubbed dead; cursed them all!