In all the towns and cities fair
On Merry England's broad expanse,
No swordsman ever could compare
With THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE.

The dauntless lad could fairly hew
A silken handkerchief in twain,
Divide a leg of mutton too--
And this without unwholesome strain.

On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick,
His sabre sometimes he'd employ--
No bar of lead, however thick,
Had terrors for the stalwart boy.

At Dover daily he'd prepare
To hew and slash, behind, before--
Which aggravated MONSIEUR PIERRE,
Who watched him from the Calais shore.

It caused good PIERRE to swear and dance,
The sight annoyed and vexed him so;
He was the bravest man in France--
He said so, and he ought to know.

"Regardez donc, ce cochon gros--
Ce polisson! Oh, sacre bleu!