If this is what people call sport,
Oh! of sporting I can’t have a high sense,
And there still remains one
More mischance on my gun—
“Fined for shooting without any license.”
THE DUEL.
A SERIOUS BALLAD.
“Like the two Kings of Brentford smelling at one nosegay.”
N Brentford town, of old renown,
There lived a Mister Bray,
Who fell in love with Lucy Bell,
And so did Mr. Clay.
To see her ride from Hammersmith,
By all it was allow’d,
Such fair outsides are seldom seen,
Such Angels on a Cloud.
Said Mr. Bray to Mr. Clay,
“You choose to rival me,
And court Miss Bell, but there your court
No thoroughfare shall be.
“Unless you now give up your suit,
You may repent your love;
I who have shot a pigeon match,
Can shoot a turtle dove.
“So pray before you woo her more,
Consider what you do;
If you pop aught to Lucy Bell,—
I’ll pop it into you.”