"We shall lick him in two rounds—or certainly three!"
Like the "Champion Slugger," in trunks of bright green,
The "Big Fellow" at Eight fifty-two might be seen:
Like a truculent Titan, blind, baffled, and blown,
At Ten thirty-seven the brute was o'erthrown.
For CORBETT smote fiercely, and CORBETT fought fast,
And the bullying bounder was beaten at last;
And the cheeks of the coarse woman-puncher were chill,
He rolled over, and struggled to rise, and lay still.
And there stood his foe with his nostrils all wide,