Page:Trivia (John Gay) to which is added London (Samuel Johnson) (1809).djvu/55

Rh From the high box they whirl the thong around, And with the twining lash their shins resound: Their rage ferments, more dang'rous wounds they try, And the blood gushes down their painful eye. And now on foot the frowning warriors light, And with their pond'rous fists renew the fight; Blow answers blow, their cheeks are smear'd with blood, Till down they fall, and, grappling, roll in mud So when two boars, in wild Ytene bred, Or on Westphalia's fatt'ning chestnuts fed, Gnash their sharp tusks, and, rous'd with equal fire, Dispute the reign of some luxurious mire; In the black flood they wallow o'er and o'er, Till their arm'd jaws distil with foam and gore. Where the mob gathers, swiftly shoot along, Nor idly mingle in the noisy throng. Lur'd by the silver hilt, amid the swarm, The subtle artist will thy side disarm. Nor is thy flaxen wig with safety worn: High on the shoulder, in a basket borne, Lurks the sly boy, whose hand, to rapine bred, Plucks off the curling honours of thy head.