Fill'd the wide heaven--while, touch'd with grief to see
His pall, well-known through many a lark and spree, [8]
Thus rumly floor'd, the kind Ascestes ran, [9]
And pitying rais'd from earth the game old man.
Uncow'd, undamaged to the sport he came,
His limbs all muscle, and his soul all flame.
The memory of his milling glories past, [10]
The shame that aught but death should see him grass'd.
All fired the veteran's pluck--with fury flush'd,
Full on his light-limb'd customer he rush'd,--
And hammering right and left, with ponderous swing [11]
Ruffian'd the reeling youngster round the ring--
Nor rest, nor pause, nor breathing-time was given
But, rapid as the rattling hail from heaven
Beats on the house-top, showers of Randall's shot
Around the Trojan's lugs fell peppering hot!
'Till now Aeneas, fill'd with anxious dread,
Rush'd in between them, and, with words well-bred,
Preserved alike the peace and Dares' head,
Both which the veteran much inclined to break--
Then kindly thus the punish'd youth bespake:
"Poor Johnny Raw! what madness could impel
So rum a Flat to face so prime a Swell?
See'st thou not, boy, the Fancy, heavenly maid,
Herself descends to this great Hammerer's aid,
And, singling him from all her flash adorers,
Shines in his hits, and thunders in his floorers?
Then, yield thee, youth,--nor such a spooney be,
To think mere man can mill a Deity!"
Thus spoke the chief--and now, the scrimmage o'er,