<h2><SPAN name="Fightin_Tomlinson" id="Fightin_Tomlinson"></SPAN>Fightin' Tomlinson</h2>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I sit by the chimbley corner,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My blood is runnin' slow,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My hands is white as a printed paage,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wot once wor red wi' the fighter's waage;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They're withered an' wrinkled now wi' old aage;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">An' the fire's burnin' low.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Once I could lether anyone<br/></span>
<span class="i0">An' strike a knock-down blow:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My legs were limmack as a young bough,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They could race or dance or foller the plough;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But they're crookled and wemblin' all waays now,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">An' the fire's burnin' low.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I 'member me of owden daays:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At Metheringham Show:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I fought young Jolland for a scarf,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I nearly brok his back in half;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He galloped hooam to Blankney Barff<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As hard as he could go.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I fought an' danced an' carried on,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Razzlin 'igh an low;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I drank as long as I could see,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">It made noa difference to me,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I wor a match for any three:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'Tis sixty year ago.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum">[13]</span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They called me 'Fightin' Tomlinson,'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(My name is Thomas Tow)<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I wor the champion o' the sheer;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">If any furriner come near,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I never shirked nor felt noa fear,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I allers 'ed a go.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On ivery night o' Saturday,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Noa matter raain nor snow,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">We gethered in the market plaaces,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">An' stripped stark naked to our waas'es,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gev' one another bloody faaces—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A Sunday mornin' show!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I fought at all the County Fairs,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From Partney down to Stow;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They called me nobbut a 'Billinghay Rough,'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I niver knawed when I'd 'ed enough,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For I wor made o' the proper stuff,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I'd like to 'ev you know.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Aye—them wor roughish times—my word!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'Tis sixty year ago;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Our heads wor hard, our hearts as well,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I wonder as we niver fell,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into the burnin' pit of hell,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wheer dreadful fires glow.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum">[14]</span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I used to hit like this—but now<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I cannot strike a blow:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My battle's nearly lost—or won,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My poor owd limbs is omost done,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The tears is droppin' one by one,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">An' the fire's burnin' low.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum">[15]</span></div>
</div>
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