Though all of us have heard of crost fights, And certain gains, by certain lost fights; I rather fancies that its news, How in a mill, both men should lose; [1] For vere the odds are thus made even, It plays the dickens with the steven: [2] Besides, against all rule they're sinning, Vere neither has no chance of vinning. Ri, tol, lol, etc.
Two milling coves, each vide awake, Vere backed to fight for heavy stake; But in the mean time, so it vos, Both kids agreed to play a cross; Bold came each buffer to the scratch, [3] To make it look a tightish match; They peeled in style, and bets were making, [4] 'Tvos six to four, but few were taking. Ri, tol, lol, etc.
Quite cautiously the mill began, For neither knew the other's plan: Each cull completely in the dark, [5] Of vot might be his neighbour's mark; Resolved his fibbing not to mind, [6] Nor yet to pay him back in kind; So on each other kept they tout, And sparred a bit, and dodged about. Ri, tol, lol, etc.
Vith mawleys raised, Tom bent his back, [7] As if to place a heavy thwack; Vile Jem, with neat left handed stopper, Straight threatened Tommy with a topper; 'Tis all my eye! no claret flows, [8] No facers sound--no smashing blows, Five minutes pass, yet not a hit, How can it end, pals ?--vait a bit. Ri, tol, lol, etc.
Each cove vos teared with double duty, To please his backers, yet play booty, [9] Ven, luckily for Jem, a teller Vos planted right upon his smeller [10] Down dropped he, stunned; ven time was called Seconds in vain the seconds bawled; The mill is o'er, the crosser crost, The losers von, the vinners lost.
[1: fight] [2: money] [3: man] [4: stripped] [5: fellow] [6: Notes] [7: hands] [8: blood] [9: deceive them] [10: nose]
There is a nook in the boozing ken, [1] Where many a mug I fog, [2] And the smoke curls gently, while cousin Ben Keeps filling the pots again and again, If the coves have stump'd their hog. [3]
The liquors around are diamond bright, And the diddle is best of all; [4] But I never in liquors took delight, For liquors I think is all a bite, [5] So for heavy wet I call. [6]
The heavy wet in a pewter quart, As brown as a badger's hue, More than Bristol milk or gin, [7] Brandy or rum, I tipple in, With my darling blowen, Sue. [8]