Odds bombs and torpedoes! An oath, like a whistle,
Will keep up the courage—Dutch courage at least!
I feel like a hero of grandeur and gristle
Who goes to the fight as men go to a feast.
Sir Lucius has wrought me to't—fire-eater furious.
Odds bullets and blades, how he'll bristle and whisk!
Yes, courage is catching. And yet—it is curious,
He urges the task without weighing the risk.
That's just like O'Trigger, a swaggering swigger
Of fiery potheen which gets into his head!
At patience and caution he'll swear or he'll snigger,
His only resources steel, powder and lead.
He thinks he has managed the business most cleverly,
Bull-making bully of Blunderbuss Hall;
But zounds. That big burly and black-bearded—Beverley,
Is not a foe to pooh-pooh! Not at all!
Odds jigs and tabors! Such bellicose neighbours
Are horridly awkward; they will force one's hand,
A chap who unceasingly brags and belabours
Is valued, no doubt, in a Donnybrook band;
But swelling Drawcansir demeanour won't answer
On this side the Channel so well as on that.
O'Trigger's a mixture of Scorpio and Cancer,
And Bull is less sweet on that blend than is Pat.
It's just a tremendous, big, bothersome business,—
That's what it is! But I'm in for it now.
I feel a dizziness. O'Trigger's fizziness
Leads all his friends into mischief and row.
Still, I'm committed; and much to be pitied,
As clearly they'd see if they had any nous.
But odds popguns and peashooters! shall I be twitted
With caution extreme, and the pluck of a mouse?
No, that will not do. I my courage must muster.
Whatever the odds, Fighting Bob must show fight!
So here goes a buster, though bluster and fluster
Are not in my line; yet "indite, Sirs, indite!"
I'll begin with a—swear-word and end with defiance!
Odds daggers and darts, how I'll hector and frown!
My friends on my valour may now place reliance,
The challenge is sent, Sirs, the gauntlet is down!!!
