Lines to Philip Sampson,
the Brummagem Youth.
Go back to Brummagem ! go back to Brum-
magem !
Youth of that ancient and halfpenny town !
Maul manufacturers ; rattle, and rummage
’em ;
Country swell’d heads may afford you re-
nown ;
Here in Town-rings, we find Fame very
fast go,
The exquisite light weights are heavy to
bruise ;
For the graceful and punishing hand of
Belasco
Foils, and will foil all attempts on the Jews.
Go back to Brummagem, while you’ve a
head on !
For bread from the Fancy is light weight
enough ;
Moulsey, whose turf is the sweetest to tread
on,
Candidly owns you’re a good bit of stuff :
But hot-heads and slow hands are utterly
useless,
When Israelite science and caution awake ;
So pr’ythee go home, Youth ! and pester
the Jews less,
And work for a cutlet, and not for a stake
Turn up the raws at a fair or a holiday,
Make your fist free with each Brummagem
rib ;
But never again, Lad, commit such a folly,
pray !
As sigh to be one of the messmates of Crib,
Leave the P. C. purse, for others to handle
Throw up no hat in a Moulsey Hurst sun ;
Bid adieu, by the two-penny post, to Jack
Randall,
And take the outside of the coach,—one
pound one !
Samson ! forget there are such men as
Seroggins,
And Shelton and Carter, and Bob Burns
and Spring ;
Forget toss for sides, and forget all the
floggings,
While shirts are pull’d off,—to make per-
fect the ring.
Your heart is a real-one, but skill, Phil, is
wanted ;
Without it, all useless by bravery begs ;
Be content that you’ve beat Dolly Smith,
and been chaunted,
And train’d,—stripp’d—and pitted,—and
hit off your legs !