"Aha," said Mr. Punch, as he made his way to the throne reserved for him, "this is good. I have done a little bit of fighting myself in my time. My mill with the Tutbury Boy is still remembered. One hundred and twenty rounds, at the end of which I dropped him senseless. But that was with the knuckles. Here they fight with gloves. But of course they fight now for the mere honour of the thing, I presume."
But here the heroic Muse insists on taking up the strain:—
The Father spake—"O skilled in men and books,
Read me this crowd, inspect them, scan their looks;
See, from their shining heads electric rays,
Reflected, sparkle in their barbers' praise.
Lo, on each bulging front's expansive white
A single jewel flames with central light;
To vacant eyes the haughty eye-glass clings,