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Extempore Verses upon a Trial of Skill between
the two great Masters of Defence, Messieurs FigG and Sutton.,
..D on '" .
By Dr. Byrom.
T Ong was the great Figg, by the prize-fightingswains,
Sole monarch acknowledg'd of Mary-bone plains : To the towns, far and near, did his valour extend, And swam down the river from Thame to Gravesend; Where liv'd Mr. Sutton, pipemaker by trade,, Who hearing that Figg was thought such a stout blade, Resolv'd to put in for a share of his fame, And so sent to challenge the champion of Thamre.
. . .. II. .. With alternate advantage two trials had past, When they fought out the rubbers on Wednesday laft. To see such a contest the house was so full, There hardly was room left to thrust in your skull... With a prelude of cudgels :we first were faluted, And two or three shoulders most handsomely futed;
'Till weary at last with inferior disasters,
All the company cry'd, Come, the masters, the masters.
Whereupon the bold Sutton first mounted the stage,
Made his honours as usual, and yearn’d to engage;
Then Figg, with a visage fo fierce, yet sedate,
Came and enter'd the lists, with his fresh-shaven pate;
Their arms were encircled with armigers too,
With a red ribbon Sutton's, and Figg's with a blue.
Thus adorn'd the two heroes, 'twixt fhoulder, andelbow,
Shook hands, and went to 't, and the word it was Bilboe.
, .':. IV.,;. .
Sure such a concern in the eyes of spectators,' :'.
Was never yer seen in our amphi-theatres,
Our commons and peers from their several places,
To half an inch distance all pointed their faces ;
While the rays of old Phæbus that shot thro’the sky-light,
Seem'd to make on the stage a new kind of twilight;
And the Gods, without doubt, if one could but have seen 'em,
Were peeping there through to do justice between 'em.
Figg struck the first stroke, and with such a vast fury,
That he broke his huge weapon in twain, I assure you;
And if his brave rival this blow. had not warded,
His head from his shoulders had quite been discarded.
Figg arm’d him again, and they took t' other tilt,
And then Sutton's blade ran away from its hilt;
The weapons were frighted, but as for the men,
In truth they ne'er minded, but at it again.
Such a force in their blows, you'd have thoughtit a wonder
Every stroke they receiv'd did not cleave 'em asunder.
Yet so great was their courage, fo equal their skill,
That they both seem'd as safe as a thief in a mill;
While in doubtful attention dame Victory stood,
And which fide to take could not tell for her blood,
But remain'd like the ass 'twixt the bundles of hay,
Without ever stirring an inch either way.
VII. 'Till Jove to the Gods fignified his intention In a speech that he made 'em too tedious to mention; But the upshot on't was, that at that very bout, From a wound in Figg's fide the hot blood spouted out; Her ladyship then seem'd to think the case plain, But Figg stepping forth with a fullen disdain, Shew'd the gash, and appeald to the company round, If his own broken sword had not given him the wound.
That bruises, and wounds a man's spirit should touch, With danger so little, with honour fo much!
Well, they both took a dram, and return to the battle,
And with a fresh fury they made the swords rattle;
While Sutton's right arm was observed to bleed,
By a touch from his rival, fo Jove had decreed; ?
Just enough for to sħew that his blood was not icor,
But made up, like Figg's, of the common red-liquor.
Again they both rush'd with as equal a fire on, - .
'Till the company cry'd, Hold, enough of cold iron,
To the quarter-staff now, lads. So first having dram'd it,
They took to their wood, and i' faith never sham'd it.
The first bout they had was so fair, and so handsome,
That to make a fair bargain, was worth a king's ransom;
And Sutton such bangs on his neighbour imparted,
Would have made any fibres but Figg's to have smarted.
Then after that bout they went on to another i
But the matter must end on some fashion, or other ;
So Jove told the Gods he had made a decree,
That Figg fhould hit Sutton a stroke on the knee.
Though Sutton disabled as soon as he hit him
Would still have fought on, but Jove would not permit
'Twas his face, not his fault, that constrain'd him to yield,
And thus the great Figg became lord of the field.
A Letter from Cambridge to a young Gentleman
at Eton School.
By Dr. LITTLETON. THOUGH plagud with algebraic lectures,
1 And astronomical conjectures,
· Wean'd from the sweets of poetry
To scraps of dry philosophy,
You see, dear Sir, I've found a time in :
T'express my thoughts to you in rhime..
For why, my friend, should distant parts,
Or times, disjoin united hearts,
Since, though by intervening space
Depriv'd of speaking face to face,
By faithful emiffary letter ,
We may converse as well, or better? ..
And not to stretch a narrow fancy,
To shew what pretty things I can say, ".
(As some will strain at fimile: : : :
First work it fine, and then apply;
Tag Butler's rhymes to Prior's thoughts,
And choose to mimic all their faults, - 3