But Sayers' right arm-that arm of prideNow dangles pow'rless by his side,

Plain for all eyes to see;

And thro' that long and desperate shock

Two mortal hours on the clock

By sheer indomitable pluck

With his left hand fought he !

XI.

With his left hand he fought him,

Though he was sore in pain,—
Full twenty times hurled backward,
Still pressing on again!

With his left hand he fought him,
Till each could fight no more;

Till Sayers could scarcely strike a blow,

Till Heenan could not see his foe

Such fighting England never knew

Upon her soil before!

XII.

They gave him of the standard
Gold coinage of the realm,

As much as one stout guardsman
Could carry in his helm ;
They made him an ovation

On the Exchange hard by,-
And they may slap their pockets

In witness if I lie.

XIII.

And every soul in England
Was glad, both high and low,
And books were voted snobbish,

And "gloves" were all the go; And each man told the story,

Whilst ladies' hearts would melt, How Sayers, the British Champion, Did battle for the Belt.

XIV.

And still, when Yankees swagger

Th' almighty "stars and stripes," And put eternal bunkum

Into their neighbours' pipes

With joke and gibe and banter
Long shall the tale be told,

How stout Tom Sayers kept the Belt
And Yankee Doodle sold!

Thou hast a gentle wife at home?
A son-perchance like me-
And children fair with golden hair
To cling around thy knee?

Then by their love I pray thee,
And by their merry tone;

By home, and all its tender joys,

Which I have never known,—

By all the smiles that hail thee now;

By every former sigh;

By every pang that thou hast felt
When lone, perchance, as I,—

By youth and all its blossoms bright,
By manhood's ripened fruits,

By Faith and Hope and Charity—
Yer'll let me clean yer boots!