I'll bet he beats you hollow;
Two Coveys are already down—
And 'tother soon must follow.
Egad! your topsails must be lower'd,
I think you've caught a tartar;
What! three to one, and yet be floor'd!
My Pinks! what are you after?
Pursue, brave youth, your bold career,
Victorious o'er each foe;
To look at, tho' you're rather queer,