Part 6
_The Clock has struck four, let’s hasten away And five hunder’d or more as I hear say; Are gon to the Pitt, to see_ Dragon _Fight, With_ Tom _of Ten Thousands, Tabering White. And now the_ Red Pile, _that kills at a Hol’t; He Fights with_ Barr-Dun, _that won the_ Baye Colt. _And_ York-shire Gray; _which at Newmarket Fought, And won the two Guinnies laid to a Groat; Must Fight with_ Old Cuckoo _this afternoon, And kills him out right, I hold you a Crown. Now, now they come in, what odds of the Match_, Dragon _he’s Wounded, the very first Touch. Ten Guinnies to Five, well Fought_ little White;_ Dragon’s _choak’d his choa’d and quite of his Fight, Come twenty Guinnies to two for a Bett, I hold any Mony sett Feeder sett. Hold, hold stand off he fights, what odds—E’gad. A-ho-_Dragon _has pind him though the Head. Come, come my Lord, the Guinnies thirty two And sixteen more_ Sir John, _I claim of You. These were rare Cocks indeed, what odds o’th next_ Pile _for a Piece, yet if_ Barr Dunn _be vext; And come to Fight in blood a holt or two All’s up, for then he’ll strike him through, and through. There have at all they Fight it rarely well; Which has the odds? Egad no one can tell. Come Gold to Silver, I am for the_ Dun, _Pox of ill Luck, all’s up, the_ Pile _has won; And but in time, for he has lost an Eye; And bleeds so fast, he cannot chuse but Dye. Well, Captain come the next, what odds of these Ten pound of Either Side, take which you please, I’ll be for the_ New market Gray, _’tis don. And I am for the_ Cuckoo, _cause he’ll run; What run away? no, no Sir, only Shift, Duggle, and dowke, turn to the right, and left. You know Sir, how, yes I know what you mean; But what if after all, your_ Dugler’s _Slain, I’ll venture that, and bett you Ten Pound more: ’Tis done my Lord, I hold you Six, to Four. I take it._ Cuckoo _Fights it rarely well So there Lad, there, the_ Gray _begins to swell. Well he’s a rare Revenging Cock indeed And Spight of Fate he makes the_ Cuckoo _Bleed, See how he Storms the Subtile headed Thief; Yet after all he’ll run him out o’ns Life. No, no, the_ Cuckoo _sinks, his race is run, The Battle’s Ended and the_ Gray _has Won. And now they Shoutings rise, and march away, Each takes his Bottle, and so Ends the Day._
_FINIS._
Transcriber‘s Notes:
Underscores “_” before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_ in the original text. Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved. Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.