Apotheosis, The: or The Dead-Game Sport's Lament
O! for a day of Lawrence Sullivan!
Just one day of just one hour — nothing more.
" Jeff, " " Fitz, " Ruhlin, Sharkey at four rounds per man,
In succession sev'rally would bite the floor!
Each into sweet oblivion then would float,
Propell'd by John's strong arm which ne'er did tire.
Each in John L. would then his master note —
John L. the paragon of " P. R's " empire!
For twelve years he fought as man ne'er fought before;
As John L. fought, ne'er will man fight again:
For with him the love of battle counted more
Than what rules now-a-days — the love of gain.
John L.! Th' Imperial Roman, now I sing!
Great John L. Sullivan, the Prize-Ring King!
Just one day of just one hour — nothing more.
" Jeff, " " Fitz, " Ruhlin, Sharkey at four rounds per man,
In succession sev'rally would bite the floor!
Each into sweet oblivion then would float,
Propell'd by John's strong arm which ne'er did tire.
Each in John L. would then his master note —
John L. the paragon of " P. R's " empire!
For twelve years he fought as man ne'er fought before;
As John L. fought, ne'er will man fight again:
For with him the love of battle counted more
Than what rules now-a-days — the love of gain.
John L.! Th' Imperial Roman, now I sing!
Great John L. Sullivan, the Prize-Ring King!
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