As long as he lived, Robert Dover kept the naughty Olympicks a yearly affair. After his death, the Games went on intermittently, but there was never a patron with the jovial appeal of their originator to preside over them. In any case, we have no later poetical reports of them—only crude commercial notices.
An advertisement for "Dover's Meeting" in the Gloucester Journal of May 1725 promises as prizes: "One Gold Ring and Six Belts to be wrestled for; One Lac'd Hat and Six Pairs of Gloves to be played at Backsword for; One Pair of Mens Shoes and One Pair of Womens Lac'd shoes to be danc'd jiggs for. All given GRATIS."
The most consistent proof of the durability of Dover's Games lay in the published sermons that attacked them: "Ridiculous gestures and acts of folly and buffoonery...grown-up persons should be ashamed," etc., etc. "Ah." declaimed one humorless critic, "dost thou call that sport where so many poor souls are devoted to destruction, by drinking, swearing and all kinds of debauchery?"
In 1852, a placard for "Dover's Meeting" advertised races and a variety of dancing and pugilistic events, plus the prizes for all divisions. It piously appealed for the attendance of Her Majesty's subjects and patriotically proclaimed. "God save the Queen!" But a year later the Victorian moralists won out. Fences enclosed the land where the revelers once vied, and the Games were called, forever. The site of the Cotswold Olympicks is still called Dover's Hill, but the merry ghost of the founder frolics alone now with the dumb sheep that graze the rich, green grass.