ARGE Heenan of Benicia,

By ninety-nine gods he

swore,

That the bright Belt of

England

Should grace her sons

no more.

By ninety-nine he swore it,

And named the "fisting" day.—

East and west and south and north

Sir Richard Mayne rode wildly forth

His cohorts to array!

II.

East and west and south and north

The smart Detectives flew—

South and north and east and west

They watch'd the long day thro'.

West and south—east and north—

The word went flashing by,

"Look out for Sayers and Heenan,

"Policemen—mind your eye!"

III.

Sir Robert's azure heroes

Look'd out uncommon keen,

From park and plain and prairie,

From heath and upland green;

From Essex fens and fallows,

From Hampshire—dale and down—

From Sussex' hundred leagues of sand,

To Shropshire's fat and flow'ry land

And Cheshire's wild and wasted strand,

And Yorkshire's heather brown;—

And so, of course, the fight came off

A dozen miles from Town.

IV.

Then first stept out great Heenan,

Unmatch'd for breadth and length;

And in his chest it might be guess'd,

He had unpleasant strength.

And to him went the Sayers

That look'd both small and thin,

But well each practised eye could read

The Lion and the Bull-dog breed,—

And from each fearless stander-by

Arose that genuine British cry,

"Go in, my boy,—and win!"

V.

And he "went in"—and smote him

Through mouth-piece and through cheek;

And Heenan smote him back again

Into the ensuing week;

Full seven days thence he smote him

With one prodigious crack,

And th' undaunted Champion straight

Discern'd that he was five feet eight,

When flat upon his back:—

Whilst a great shout of laughter

Rang from the Yankee pack.

VI.

As springs the Whitworth bullet

Out sprang the Champion then,

And dealt the huge Benician

A vast thump on the chin;

And thrice and four times strongly

Drove in the shatt'ring blow;

And thrice and four times waver'd

The herculean foe;

And his great arms swung wildly,

Like ship-masts, to and fro.

VII.

But now no sound of laughter

Was heard on either side,

Whilst feint, and draw, and rally,

The cautious Bruisers tried;

And long they spared and counter'd,

Till Heenan sped a thrust

So fierce and quick, it swept away

Th' opposing guard like sapling spray,—

And for the second time that day

The Champion bit the dust.

VIII.

Short time lay English Sayers

Upon the ground at length,

Short time his Yankee foeman

Had triumph in his strength;

Right to the eye he smote him

And his soul went with the blow—

Such blow no other hand could dash

Such blow no other arm could smash—

The giant tottered low;

And for a space they spong'd his face,

And thought the eye would go.

IX.

Time's up!—Again they battle;

Again the strokes" fly free;

But Sayers' right arm—that arm of pride—

Now dangles pow'rless by his side,

Plain for all eyes to see;

And thro' that long and desp'rate shock—

Two mortal hours on the clock—

By sheer indomitable pluck

With his left hand fought he!

X.

With his left hand he fought him,

Though he was sore in pain,—

Full twenty times hurl'd 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!

XI.

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.

XII.

And ev'ry 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 did melt,

How Sayers, the British Champion,

Did battle for the Belt.

XIII.

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!