20
Tom was quite a good fellow, nor quarrell'd in ale,
But if challeng'd in earnest, would never turn tail
So he jumps him up quickly, and soon with a blow
Laid the carpenter John where himself had laid low.
Fair, fair, cried the neighbours, let's make a good ring
Let them fight it out stoutly, 'twill be just the thing;
So at him, good fellow, was echoed all round,
And they stript 'em, and clapt 'em, and measur'd the ground.
Now strike him, friend John, like a nail on the head,
Now froth him at top, Tom; his own party said:
That's right, hit him hard, there just over the scull,
He'll spin out like a barrel unhoop'd, he's so full.
Like nine-pins the tumbl'd and roll in the mud,
Their bodies all bruises, their faces all blood,
Till a dext'rous aim'd blow of Tom Toper's at last,
His friend John on the temple, and settl'd him fast.
Down he slump'd like a wool-sack, or lump of pig lead,
Unsens'd in a moment, 'twas thought he was dead;
The women all scream'd the men cried give him air,
Box'd each other, and quarrell'd, to prove it all fair.
