Classic Poem

Here's to the blood, in his mettle and pride,
To the hunter who takes every fence in his stride,
And here's to the hounds and a straight running fox,
And I'll drain off my glass to the fighting game-cocks.

Let us drink all night till the dawn of the day,
Then you back the crow wing and I'll back the grey.
Such courage and beauty none other can claim,
For the pride of my heart is a cock of the game.

Long years ago on the old village green
At Easter and Whitsun great battles were seen,
When the cocks in their fury made feathers to fly,
Clipped out, and well heeled with a gleam in their eye.

Now the Lord has created the game cock to fight,
But the Law has decreed that this cannot be right,
So we're out on the moors where no-one can see
Till the Lord and Law decide to agree.

From the woods of Low Furness to the wild Broughton Moor,
By Brayton and Wigton you'll find them for sure,
May the day never dawn when I no longer hear
The crow of the game cock so loud and so clear.

Choose for a wife like the bonny game hen,
If she comes of good family, a breed that you ken,
A right bonny lassie with fire in her eyes,
Small in the belly and strong in the thighs.

Fight for your rights like the game-cock of old,
The rights that belong you to have and to hold,
Though fortune provides neither riches nor fame,
May she leave you a son like the cock of the game.

There are plenty among us all sport would deny,
When our country's in peril they alter their cry,
For then they've no wish for our spirits to tame,
For they're looking for lads like the cock of the game.