The barbarian-like amusement of seeing two animals instinctively destroy each other certainly affords sufficient scope for the pen of the Satirist; the Author thought he could not do it more effectually than by giving a picture of the COCK-PIT, and describing a few of the characters who generally may be seen at such glorious contests.
AUTHOR.
"THE great, the important hour is come.”
Oh Hope ! thou wily nurse !
I see bad luck behind thy back,
Dark, brooding, deep remorse.
No fancied muse will I invoke,
To grace my humble strain,
But sing my song in homely phrase,
Inspir'd by what I've seen.
Here comes a “feeder” with his charge;[2]
Along friends 'tis whisper'd straight,
How long he swung him on a string
To bring him to his weight.[3]
The carpet's laid—pit money drawn—
All's high with expectation ;
With birds bereft of Nature's garb,
The handlers take their station.
What roaring, betting, bawling, swearing,
Loudly assail the ear !
“Three pounds !”—“four pounds, on Phillip's cock !” [4]
“Done ! done ! come on, sir ! here !”
Now cast a serious eye around—
Behold the motley group,
All gamblers, swindlers, ragamuffins,
Votaries of the stoup.
(But why of this thus lightly speak ?
The poor man's one best friend—
When fortune's sky lours dark and grim,
It clears the drumly scene.)
Here sits a wretch with meagre face,
And sullen, drowsy eye ;
Nor speaks he much—last night at cards
A gamester drained him dry.
Here bawls another vent'rous soul,
Who risks his ev'ry farthing ;
What d—l's the matter though at home
His wife and brats are starving.
See, here's a father gainst a son,
A brother gainst a brother,
Who, e'en with more than common spite,
Bark hard at one another.
But see yon fellow all in black,
His look speaks inward joy ;
Mad happy since his father's death,
Sporting his legacy.
And, mark this aged debauchee,
With red bepimpl'd face—
He fain would bet a crown or two,
But purse is not in case.
But hark !—what cry !—“He's run !—he's run !”—
And loud huzzas take place—
Now, mark what deep dejection sits
On ev'ry loser's face.
Observe the owner—frantic man,
With imprecations dread,
He grasps his vanquish'd idol-god,
And quick twirls off his head.
But, bliss attend their feeling souls,
Who no such deeds delight in !
Brutes are but brutes, let men be men,
Nor pleasure in cock-fighting. [5]
The barbarous sport of cock-fighting was very prevalent in Paisley in the end of the last and beginning of the present centuries. The principal Cock-pit was situated in the house now 25 West Street, behind the Deer Inn in Broomlands Street. The tenement was vulgarly called the Pit Land, and it is known by that name at the present time. Cock-fighting was frequently carried on in alehouses and taverns, such as that of Allan Brown's, referred to in the Poem, No. 51.—Ed.
[2] The best of food was required for game cocks, as high feeding stimulated their pugnacity, and increased their powers of endurance. Hence, the saying—To live like fighting-cocks, is to have abundance of the best of food.—Ed.
[3] Note by the Author.—“When a feeder has unluckily fed his bird above the stipulated weight, recourse is had to the ludicrous expedient of making poor chanticleer commence rope-dancing. Being tied on the rope, he flutters, and through fear loses part of his preponderancy. When this happens to be the case, the knowing ones who are up to it will not bet so freely on his prowess, as the operation is supposed to have weakened him.”
[4] Phillips was a Glasgow cock-fighter.
[5] Note by Ramsay.—“This little piece says much for the humane disposi¬tion of the Author. We have been assured that it gives a very just description of what may be witnessed at such degrading exhibitions.”
[Semple 55]