Their brisk sport is spoiling,
Gleefully they shout,
"Keep the Pot a-boiling!"

Keep it? Ay, by Jove!
We are on our mettle.
'Tis a game we love
More than Pot and Kettle.
Poorish sport that same,
Angry mutual blackening.
Here's a merrier game.
Pull up there! Who's slackening?
Not the leader, _Punch_!
On he goes, amazing,
To the rest his hunch
Like a beacon blazing.
Not Old Father X!
How the Ancient goes it!
'Tis a sight to vex
Malice, and he knows it;
Not young Master BULL!
At the game _he_'s handy,
Nor has much the pull
Of his pal, young SANDY;
Not that dark-eyed girl
With her cloak a-flying,
She can swing and swirl
With the boys. She's trying
Everything she knows.
As for Master PADDY,