The Statesman. — 1821-09-08 (London, England)

ORIGINAL POETRY. THE COCKNEY SPORTSMEN.  Bob Last, and Tom Stitch, one night o'er a pot Were talking of polities. trade and what not, The national debt, aid oppressive game laws, Which forbid even Woodcocks from greeting their jaws; And thought that next Sessions—House-Sparrows so tame Would be with Cock Robins, and Tom Tits, eali'd game ; Thus, forbidding the pleasure a day's sporting yields In lissulussmith, Hackney, or Battersea fields. " My musket" said Tom. " is as clean as a smelt. Well charged too with powder and shot is my belt; My bull dog. and pug too, I've tutor'd so well, That I'H bet 2 to I, at ti mile they will smell, And promise myself, should it prove a line day, In the month of September, a few hours play." " I'll join you," cried Bob, "tho' not much of a shot, And tho' I bag nothing shall care not a jot." 'Twos agreed—the time fis'd where to meet—bid good night—  Shook bands and departed with seeming delight. At five in the morning, Tom kuock'd at the door— Bob, restless, had risen two hours before; As fresh as a lark, tho' deprived of his sleep, And fancied in game was already knee deep; A flask of bine ruin Bob's pocket reveard, Each a:glass took, and drank to the sports of the field. Near kertaington, marching, in calm pensive mood, By the side of a thicket a poor donkey stood, Whose ears half recumbent sppear'd thro' the bashes, To our -sportstnens' strain'tt optics—two blackbirds or thrushes. ft Tom crept on his knees till he got near the spot. Then levell'd his piece—and away went the shot. " Thpy're down" exclaim'd Bob. and eagerly flew To pk.k up the game, when the Ass 'pear'd in view. Much alartu'd—off they ran—were soon out of sight— Took a dram and recover'd the effects of the fright ; When adjoining a cot, on the roof of a stye. A tom-cat sat musing, and soon caught Bob's eye. Ilk piece charged, soon fired, miss'd puss—but alas! lilt the window above him and broke all the glass. The report very soon brought a mastiff in sight, Whose appearance again put oar heroes to flight; Tom popp'd thro' a hedge and was scaling a ditch, When the mastiff behind seized him fast by the breech ; 'And spite of the kicking and screaming he made, Held him fast till his master came up to his aid. " Hell and fury !" he cried, " what bast thou been at ? What Devil induced thee to shoot at my cat? To break all my windows—and frighten my wife? I'll hang thee, then villain. as sure as Monet life." Tom begg'd hard for mercy, was ready to swear, The eat. if it was one, he took for a hare, " A hare !" rejoited he, " you scoundrel, yeso4le Did you e'er know a hare mount the roof °Ulnas?" Tom replied, " he ne'er saw one alive in his life, Was sorry, indeed, he had frighten'd his wife; For the glass he had broken he'd willingly pay, And promised in future to keep far away." This cabled the old man, Tom paid for each owe, And swore be wouirtneer go out sporting again. A worse fate attended poor Bob and his gun, Who for two miles and upwards half frantic had run ; II is conduct exciting a general belief That he'd murder committed—look'd so like a thief. Cries of •• stop thief" ensued, poor Bob was secured, And spite of remonstrance, in the cage was immured, In vain he protested, he'd been out for sport, Was a snob by profession, and lived in Crane-court ; And could bring, if required, in spite of their sneers. A hundred good men who had known him for years 'Twits all unavailing, to justice must go, Who'd commit him at once. whether guilty or no. A pair of strong handcuffs was quickly put on, And his breeches made slack. lest away he should run. 'Fore bit Winship was Woes, " mail fellass." be said. `: Who are you? what are you ? and how get your bread ?" Bob repeated his tale, that he'd been oat for sport. Was a snob by profession and lived in Crane-court. Enquiry was made, he was found to speak true, And discharged with a caution to keep trade in view. Bob vow'd that his worship's advice he would take, To his LAST stick to future—and sporting forsake.