The 'omin' birds shriek clamorous alarms;
An' Night creeps stealthily to gain the ring.
But see! The champeen backs an' fills, becos
'E doesn't feel the Boshter Bloke 'e was.

Time does a bunk as us-u-al, nor stays
A single instant, e'en at Day's be'est.
Alas, the 'eavy-weight's 'igh-livin' ways
'As made 'im soft, an' large around the vest.
'E sez 'e's fat inside; 'e starts to whine;
'E sez 'e wants to dror the colour line.

Relentless nigger Night crawls thro' the ropes,
Advancin' grimly on the quakin' Day,
Whose noisy push, shorn of their 'igh-noon 'opes,
Wait, 'ushed an' anxious, fer the comin' fray.
And many lusty barrackers of noon
Desert 'im one by one--traitors so soon!

'E's out er form! 'E 'asn't trained enough!
They mark their sickly champeen on the stage,
An' narked, the sun, 'is backer, in a huff,
Sneaks outer sight, red in the face wiv rage.
W'ile gloomy roosters, they 'oo made the morn
Ring wiv 'is praises, creep to bed forlorn.


All faint an' groggy grows the beaten Day;
'E staggers drunkenly about the ring;
An owl 'oots jeerin'ly across the way,