Think of Benjy, dear boy, my old champion, bless his black curls! He wired in,
Never thinking of manners or taste, wich is muck when you're fighting to win.
Look at Grandolph, the Marlborough Midget, as often reminds me of Ben!
There—there! Don't turn touchy, and tiff; we all need a straight tip now and then.
You can do him, next round, I've no doubt, if you'll only fight up to your form.
Pull yourself well together, 'it 'ard, bustle up the old boy, make it warm!—
Remember wot Johnny Broome's mother once wrote to her boy—mark, and mind!—
"Be sure you make use of your left; keep away from your man till you find
You can reach him in safety, and then—give him pepper. Avoid being thrown.
But give 'im all the bursters you can!" Wich that Ammyzon, who is beknown