The Project Gutenberg eBook ofCricket SongsThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Cricket SongsAuthor: Norman GaleRelease date: November 15, 2014 [eBook #47354]Most recently updated: October 24, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed ProofreadingTeam at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced fromimages generously made available by The Internet Archive)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRICKET SONGS ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Cricket SongsAuthor: Norman GaleRelease date: November 15, 2014 [eBook #47354]Most recently updated: October 24, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed ProofreadingTeam at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced fromimages generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Title: Cricket Songs
Author: Norman Gale
Author: Norman Gale
Release date: November 15, 2014 [eBook #47354]Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed ProofreadingTeam at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced fromimages generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRICKET SONGS ***
BY
NORMAN GALE
METHUEN AND CO.36 ESSEX STREET, W.C.LONDON1894
Edinburgh:T.andA. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty
These Cricket Songs are dedicated toall Rugby Boys in general, andto John and William Dentonin particular
Four years ago the author of this book issued a slender volume of cricket songs. Seven of these are now reprinted; the rest are new.
The cricket ball, for the most part, is spoken of as a female. Once or twice the neuter gender is used.Varium et mutabile semper femina.
It is hoped that the introduction of the names of prominent players (and one critic) will cause no vexation.
Apologies are tendered to Mr. Moore and Mr. Shakespeare.
PAGEIn Spring1Up atLords3Out5Lay On8Rub It In10Buzz Her In12A Colonist16Lightning (Greased)18Golf steals our Youth20A Tomboy23Advice Gratis25Quinquaginta Annos Natus28Star-Gazing30O Bowler, Bowler31The Church Cricketant34Revenge36Chuck Her Up38Two Critics41Buttered44Sparkling46'Duck'48On the Spot51The Hope of Surrey53Bombastes56Englandv.Australia59Cricket on the Hearth61Dark Blue64The Last Ball of Summer66
Grass begins to grow,Winds to be more civil,Rollers press the pitchFor to make it level:Thrushes pipe a staveIn the budding thicket;Snowdrops point to pads,Crocuses to Cricket!Soon will stand the SlipCrouching for a capture;Soon the slogger slogFours and fives in rapture!Soon the curly lobFind its love, the wicket;Snowdrops point to pads,Crocuses to Cricket!Urchins in the roadBowl with oblong pebbles,Sending to each mateBursts of happy trebles:In the words of slang,Summer is the ticket!Snowdrops point to pads,Crocuses to Cricket!
Grass begins to grow,Winds to be more civil,Rollers press the pitchFor to make it level:Thrushes pipe a staveIn the budding thicket;Snowdrops point to pads,Crocuses to Cricket!Soon will stand the SlipCrouching for a capture;Soon the slogger slogFours and fives in rapture!Soon the curly lobFind its love, the wicket;Snowdrops point to pads,Crocuses to Cricket!Urchins in the roadBowl with oblong pebbles,Sending to each mateBursts of happy trebles:In the words of slang,Summer is the ticket!Snowdrops point to pads,Crocuses to Cricket!
Grass begins to grow,Winds to be more civil,Rollers press the pitchFor to make it level:Thrushes pipe a staveIn the budding thicket;Snowdrops point to pads,Crocuses to Cricket!
Grass begins to grow,
Winds to be more civil,
Rollers press the pitch
For to make it level:
Thrushes pipe a stave
In the budding thicket;
Snowdrops point to pads,
Crocuses to Cricket!
Soon will stand the SlipCrouching for a capture;Soon the slogger slogFours and fives in rapture!Soon the curly lobFind its love, the wicket;Snowdrops point to pads,Crocuses to Cricket!
Soon will stand the Slip
Crouching for a capture;
Soon the slogger slog
Fours and fives in rapture!
Soon the curly lob
Find its love, the wicket;
Snowdrops point to pads,
Crocuses to Cricket!
Urchins in the roadBowl with oblong pebbles,Sending to each mateBursts of happy trebles:In the words of slang,Summer is the ticket!Snowdrops point to pads,Crocuses to Cricket!
Urchins in the road
Bowl with oblong pebbles,
Sending to each mate
Bursts of happy trebles:
In the words of slang,
Summer is the ticket!
Snowdrops point to pads,
Crocuses to Cricket!
When Stoddart makes her hum,Up atLords,Till the bowler bites his thumb,Up atLords,How the Middlesex supportersTurn vociferous exhortersAs he jumps on Lockwood's Snorters,Up atLords!When Stoddart makes her humUp atLords,And my country cousins comeUp atLordsWith their looks as sweet as honey,And their exclamations funny,I am prodigal of moneyUp atLords!When Stoddart makes her humUp atLords,And the Surrey Skipper's glumUp atLords,Oh! all my odds are even,And (I hope to be forgiven)'Tis a truly Cricket HeavenUp atLords!
When Stoddart makes her hum,Up atLords,Till the bowler bites his thumb,Up atLords,How the Middlesex supportersTurn vociferous exhortersAs he jumps on Lockwood's Snorters,Up atLords!When Stoddart makes her humUp atLords,And my country cousins comeUp atLordsWith their looks as sweet as honey,And their exclamations funny,I am prodigal of moneyUp atLords!When Stoddart makes her humUp atLords,And the Surrey Skipper's glumUp atLords,Oh! all my odds are even,And (I hope to be forgiven)'Tis a truly Cricket HeavenUp atLords!
When Stoddart makes her hum,Up atLords,Till the bowler bites his thumb,Up atLords,How the Middlesex supportersTurn vociferous exhortersAs he jumps on Lockwood's Snorters,Up atLords!
When Stoddart makes her hum,
Up atLords,
Till the bowler bites his thumb,
Up atLords,
How the Middlesex supporters
Turn vociferous exhorters
As he jumps on Lockwood's Snorters,
Up atLords!
When Stoddart makes her humUp atLords,And my country cousins comeUp atLordsWith their looks as sweet as honey,And their exclamations funny,I am prodigal of moneyUp atLords!
When Stoddart makes her hum
Up atLords,
And my country cousins come
Up atLords
With their looks as sweet as honey,
And their exclamations funny,
I am prodigal of money
Up atLords!
When Stoddart makes her humUp atLords,And the Surrey Skipper's glumUp atLords,Oh! all my odds are even,And (I hope to be forgiven)'Tis a truly Cricket HeavenUp atLords!
When Stoddart makes her hum
Up atLords,
And the Surrey Skipper's glum
Up atLords,
Oh! all my odds are even,
And (I hope to be forgiven)
'Tis a truly Cricket Heaven
Up atLords!
O very potent little word,'Out!'How often have we sadly heard'Out!'When stupid umpires surely sin,Just as to settle we begin,And say, in place of saying 'in,''Out!'Though I am Captain of the team,'Out!'Though I in doubt may gravely seem,'Out!'Though I have barely scored a runMy average goes down with one,And other Bats must have the fun—'Out!'I see Jones laugh behind his hand—Out!Next match, by Jove, the brute shall standOut!Our cousin, Lydia Lake, is here,And in her eyes I would appearA Swell;hinc illae—Jones's sneer—Out!Ah! lucky Jones begins to hitOut!Another four! I wish he'd getOut!I see him look where Lydia sitsTo note if she applauds his hits—She does! She'll burst her gloves to bits!—Out!Yet why should I be Jones's butt,Out?I have a plan that chap to cutOut!What boots it thus to mope, my soul?I go to sit by Lydia. Scowl,O Jones, for you, methinks, I bowlOut!
O very potent little word,'Out!'How often have we sadly heard'Out!'When stupid umpires surely sin,Just as to settle we begin,And say, in place of saying 'in,''Out!'Though I am Captain of the team,'Out!'Though I in doubt may gravely seem,'Out!'Though I have barely scored a runMy average goes down with one,And other Bats must have the fun—'Out!'I see Jones laugh behind his hand—Out!Next match, by Jove, the brute shall standOut!Our cousin, Lydia Lake, is here,And in her eyes I would appearA Swell;hinc illae—Jones's sneer—Out!Ah! lucky Jones begins to hitOut!Another four! I wish he'd getOut!I see him look where Lydia sitsTo note if she applauds his hits—She does! She'll burst her gloves to bits!—Out!Yet why should I be Jones's butt,Out?I have a plan that chap to cutOut!What boots it thus to mope, my soul?I go to sit by Lydia. Scowl,O Jones, for you, methinks, I bowlOut!
O very potent little word,'Out!'How often have we sadly heard'Out!'When stupid umpires surely sin,Just as to settle we begin,And say, in place of saying 'in,''Out!'
O very potent little word,
'Out!'
How often have we sadly heard
'Out!'
When stupid umpires surely sin,
Just as to settle we begin,
And say, in place of saying 'in,'
'Out!'
Though I am Captain of the team,'Out!'Though I in doubt may gravely seem,'Out!'Though I have barely scored a runMy average goes down with one,And other Bats must have the fun—'Out!'
Though I am Captain of the team,
'Out!'
Though I in doubt may gravely seem,
'Out!'
Though I have barely scored a run
My average goes down with one,
And other Bats must have the fun—
'Out!'
I see Jones laugh behind his hand—Out!Next match, by Jove, the brute shall standOut!Our cousin, Lydia Lake, is here,And in her eyes I would appearA Swell;hinc illae—Jones's sneer—Out!
I see Jones laugh behind his hand—
Out!
Next match, by Jove, the brute shall stand
Out!
Our cousin, Lydia Lake, is here,
And in her eyes I would appear
A Swell;hinc illae—Jones's sneer—
Out!
Ah! lucky Jones begins to hitOut!Another four! I wish he'd getOut!I see him look where Lydia sitsTo note if she applauds his hits—She does! She'll burst her gloves to bits!—Out!
Ah! lucky Jones begins to hit
Out!
Another four! I wish he'd get
Out!
I see him look where Lydia sits
To note if she applauds his hits—
She does! She'll burst her gloves to bits!—
Out!
Yet why should I be Jones's butt,Out?I have a plan that chap to cutOut!What boots it thus to mope, my soul?I go to sit by Lydia. Scowl,O Jones, for you, methinks, I bowlOut!
Yet why should I be Jones's butt,
Out?
I have a plan that chap to cut
Out!
What boots it thus to mope, my soul?
I go to sit by Lydia. Scowl,
O Jones, for you, methinks, I bowl
Out!
One wicket to fall and a round fifty runsWaited for still:As well to imagine that twice twenty tunsGo to a jill!O Jones, be contained if you worship your school,Block her and snick;But punch her to leg if she's handy; keep cool;Lay it on thick!She comes up full pitch now and then, so look out;Dust her along!And go like a hare if you notice me shout—Wait for the song!Tom Emmett will chaff ev'ry chap in the team—Jolly old Brick!—If we funk like young misses of sugar and cream;Lay it on thick!Go big at those lobs like a lusty old Jones,Give it 'em hot!They break; get in front with your bundle of bones,Leg is the spot!Take guard. Oh, well banged! There's a four to begin,See, they are sick!Another! Another! we're going to win—Lay it on thick!
One wicket to fall and a round fifty runsWaited for still:As well to imagine that twice twenty tunsGo to a jill!O Jones, be contained if you worship your school,Block her and snick;But punch her to leg if she's handy; keep cool;Lay it on thick!She comes up full pitch now and then, so look out;Dust her along!And go like a hare if you notice me shout—Wait for the song!Tom Emmett will chaff ev'ry chap in the team—Jolly old Brick!—If we funk like young misses of sugar and cream;Lay it on thick!Go big at those lobs like a lusty old Jones,Give it 'em hot!They break; get in front with your bundle of bones,Leg is the spot!Take guard. Oh, well banged! There's a four to begin,See, they are sick!Another! Another! we're going to win—Lay it on thick!
One wicket to fall and a round fifty runsWaited for still:As well to imagine that twice twenty tunsGo to a jill!O Jones, be contained if you worship your school,Block her and snick;But punch her to leg if she's handy; keep cool;Lay it on thick!
One wicket to fall and a round fifty runs
Waited for still:
As well to imagine that twice twenty tuns
Go to a jill!
O Jones, be contained if you worship your school,
Block her and snick;
But punch her to leg if she's handy; keep cool;
Lay it on thick!
She comes up full pitch now and then, so look out;Dust her along!And go like a hare if you notice me shout—Wait for the song!Tom Emmett will chaff ev'ry chap in the team—Jolly old Brick!—If we funk like young misses of sugar and cream;Lay it on thick!
She comes up full pitch now and then, so look out;
Dust her along!
And go like a hare if you notice me shout—
Wait for the song!
Tom Emmett will chaff ev'ry chap in the team—
Jolly old Brick!—
If we funk like young misses of sugar and cream;
Lay it on thick!
Go big at those lobs like a lusty old Jones,Give it 'em hot!They break; get in front with your bundle of bones,Leg is the spot!Take guard. Oh, well banged! There's a four to begin,See, they are sick!Another! Another! we're going to win—Lay it on thick!
Go big at those lobs like a lusty old Jones,
Give it 'em hot!
They break; get in front with your bundle of bones,
Leg is the spot!
Take guard. Oh, well banged! There's a four to begin,
See, they are sick!
Another! Another! we're going to win—
Lay it on thick!
It's all very wellFor Reginald Dibbs,Who hasn't been hitBy a ball in the ribsAnd one on the shinTo shout, 'Rub it in!'What cheek of R. Dibbs,Who, you know, is a sneak,To scream to you thereIn his high treble squeak,So strident and thin,'O Jones, rub it in!'I wonder if Dibbs,When I punch him to-night,Will think it was wise,Or thoughtful, or right,To caper and grin,And yell, 'Rub it in!'
It's all very wellFor Reginald Dibbs,Who hasn't been hitBy a ball in the ribsAnd one on the shinTo shout, 'Rub it in!'What cheek of R. Dibbs,Who, you know, is a sneak,To scream to you thereIn his high treble squeak,So strident and thin,'O Jones, rub it in!'
It's all very wellFor Reginald Dibbs,Who hasn't been hitBy a ball in the ribsAnd one on the shinTo shout, 'Rub it in!'
It's all very well
For Reginald Dibbs,
Who hasn't been hit
By a ball in the ribs
And one on the shin
To shout, 'Rub it in!'
What cheek of R. Dibbs,Who, you know, is a sneak,To scream to you thereIn his high treble squeak,So strident and thin,'O Jones, rub it in!'
What cheek of R. Dibbs,
Who, you know, is a sneak,
To scream to you there
In his high treble squeak,
So strident and thin,
'O Jones, rub it in!'
I wonder if Dibbs,When I punch him to-night,Will think it was wise,Or thoughtful, or right,To caper and grin,And yell, 'Rub it in!'
I wonder if Dibbs,When I punch him to-night,Will think it was wise,Or thoughtful, or right,To caper and grin,And yell, 'Rub it in!'
I wonder if Dibbs,
When I punch him to-night,
Will think it was wise,
Or thoughtful, or right,
To caper and grin,
And yell, 'Rub it in!'
They're running another! Hi, Russell, look sharp!Buzz her in!Excuse me, you fellows—a Captain must carp—Buzz her in!The fielding's disgusting! when crossing our swords,Or rather our bats, on the greensward ofLordsYoumustloose some few of your muscular cords—Buzz her in!Let her come like a flash, and remember, shy straight!Buzz her in!We don't want a fourer made into an eight—Buzz her in!Suppress all the Extras you possibly can,For often they total far more than a man—Just think of last year and the short runs they ran!Buzz her in!Don't trot by the side of the ball like a dolt,Buzz her in!But cram on the pace like a fine Derby colt,Buzz her in!Pick her up, dash her in true and fast to the sticks,And teach the best batsmen to look to their tricks!The team that can field well the team is that licks—Buzz her in!Get in front of the ball if you can—take the hint—Buzz her in!But if she flies past you, why—then you mustsprint!Buzz her in!Turn round in an instant; decide in the sameWhich wicket to throw at—it may win the game—Beware of returns that are timidly tame,Buzzher in!Any bruise that you gain in the course of your toil,Buzz her in!The Matron will rub with St. Jacob his Oil,Buzz her in!And the fellows will cheer when you stop a hot drive—Thronging round the Pavilion like bees near a hive;And your name in our annals for ever will thrive—Buzz her in!If attention be paid to such details as these,Buzz her in!Much trembling will visit the Marlborough knees,Buzz her in!Let Rugby's Eleven tremendously tryTo catch ev'ry catch be it low, hot, or high;And down with each overthrow, wide ball, or bye—Buzz her in!
They're running another! Hi, Russell, look sharp!Buzz her in!Excuse me, you fellows—a Captain must carp—Buzz her in!The fielding's disgusting! when crossing our swords,Or rather our bats, on the greensward ofLordsYoumustloose some few of your muscular cords—Buzz her in!Let her come like a flash, and remember, shy straight!Buzz her in!We don't want a fourer made into an eight—Buzz her in!Suppress all the Extras you possibly can,For often they total far more than a man—Just think of last year and the short runs they ran!Buzz her in!Don't trot by the side of the ball like a dolt,Buzz her in!But cram on the pace like a fine Derby colt,Buzz her in!Pick her up, dash her in true and fast to the sticks,And teach the best batsmen to look to their tricks!The team that can field well the team is that licks—Buzz her in!Get in front of the ball if you can—take the hint—Buzz her in!But if she flies past you, why—then you mustsprint!Buzz her in!Turn round in an instant; decide in the sameWhich wicket to throw at—it may win the game—Beware of returns that are timidly tame,Buzzher in!Any bruise that you gain in the course of your toil,Buzz her in!The Matron will rub with St. Jacob his Oil,Buzz her in!And the fellows will cheer when you stop a hot drive—Thronging round the Pavilion like bees near a hive;And your name in our annals for ever will thrive—Buzz her in!If attention be paid to such details as these,Buzz her in!Much trembling will visit the Marlborough knees,Buzz her in!Let Rugby's Eleven tremendously tryTo catch ev'ry catch be it low, hot, or high;And down with each overthrow, wide ball, or bye—Buzz her in!
They're running another! Hi, Russell, look sharp!Buzz her in!Excuse me, you fellows—a Captain must carp—Buzz her in!The fielding's disgusting! when crossing our swords,Or rather our bats, on the greensward ofLordsYoumustloose some few of your muscular cords—Buzz her in!
They're running another! Hi, Russell, look sharp!
Buzz her in!
Excuse me, you fellows—a Captain must carp—
Buzz her in!
The fielding's disgusting! when crossing our swords,
Or rather our bats, on the greensward ofLords
Youmustloose some few of your muscular cords—
Buzz her in!
Let her come like a flash, and remember, shy straight!Buzz her in!We don't want a fourer made into an eight—Buzz her in!Suppress all the Extras you possibly can,For often they total far more than a man—Just think of last year and the short runs they ran!Buzz her in!
Let her come like a flash, and remember, shy straight!
Buzz her in!
We don't want a fourer made into an eight—
Buzz her in!
Suppress all the Extras you possibly can,
For often they total far more than a man—
Just think of last year and the short runs they ran!
Buzz her in!
Don't trot by the side of the ball like a dolt,Buzz her in!But cram on the pace like a fine Derby colt,Buzz her in!Pick her up, dash her in true and fast to the sticks,And teach the best batsmen to look to their tricks!The team that can field well the team is that licks—Buzz her in!
Don't trot by the side of the ball like a dolt,
Buzz her in!
But cram on the pace like a fine Derby colt,
Buzz her in!
Pick her up, dash her in true and fast to the sticks,
And teach the best batsmen to look to their tricks!
The team that can field well the team is that licks—
Buzz her in!
Get in front of the ball if you can—take the hint—Buzz her in!But if she flies past you, why—then you mustsprint!Buzz her in!Turn round in an instant; decide in the sameWhich wicket to throw at—it may win the game—Beware of returns that are timidly tame,Buzzher in!
Get in front of the ball if you can—take the hint—
Buzz her in!
But if she flies past you, why—then you mustsprint!
Buzz her in!
Turn round in an instant; decide in the same
Which wicket to throw at—it may win the game—
Beware of returns that are timidly tame,
Buzzher in!
Any bruise that you gain in the course of your toil,Buzz her in!The Matron will rub with St. Jacob his Oil,Buzz her in!And the fellows will cheer when you stop a hot drive—Thronging round the Pavilion like bees near a hive;And your name in our annals for ever will thrive—Buzz her in!
Any bruise that you gain in the course of your toil,
Buzz her in!
The Matron will rub with St. Jacob his Oil,
Buzz her in!
And the fellows will cheer when you stop a hot drive—
Thronging round the Pavilion like bees near a hive;
And your name in our annals for ever will thrive—
Buzz her in!
If attention be paid to such details as these,Buzz her in!Much trembling will visit the Marlborough knees,Buzz her in!Let Rugby's Eleven tremendously tryTo catch ev'ry catch be it low, hot, or high;And down with each overthrow, wide ball, or bye—Buzz her in!
If attention be paid to such details as these,
Buzz her in!
Much trembling will visit the Marlborough knees,
Buzz her in!
Let Rugby's Eleven tremendously try
To catch ev'ry catch be it low, hot, or high;
And down with each overthrow, wide ball, or bye—
Buzz her in!
The Cornstalk ladles out his FoursOr Fivers, as the slog may be.Oh, how the ring of watchers roarsWhen Lyons's set and Taking Tea!But when the hitter shows his pacesI like to note the varied faces—Shrewsbury's with grief in it,George Giffen's with relief in it,When Lyons puts his beef in itAnd planks her to the railings!For Hearne's deliveries are stale,And Lockwood's lightning does not thrive;That fielder's anything but paleWho goes great Gunns to stop the drive!The Nottingham Express!Hechases;Ilike to note the varied faces—Shrewsbury's with grief in it,George Giffen's with relief in it,When Lyons puts his beef in itAnd planks her to the railings!
The Cornstalk ladles out his FoursOr Fivers, as the slog may be.Oh, how the ring of watchers roarsWhen Lyons's set and Taking Tea!But when the hitter shows his pacesI like to note the varied faces—Shrewsbury's with grief in it,George Giffen's with relief in it,When Lyons puts his beef in itAnd planks her to the railings!For Hearne's deliveries are stale,And Lockwood's lightning does not thrive;That fielder's anything but paleWho goes great Gunns to stop the drive!The Nottingham Express!Hechases;Ilike to note the varied faces—Shrewsbury's with grief in it,George Giffen's with relief in it,When Lyons puts his beef in itAnd planks her to the railings!
The Cornstalk ladles out his FoursOr Fivers, as the slog may be.Oh, how the ring of watchers roarsWhen Lyons's set and Taking Tea!But when the hitter shows his pacesI like to note the varied faces—
The Cornstalk ladles out his Fours
Or Fivers, as the slog may be.
Oh, how the ring of watchers roars
When Lyons's set and Taking Tea!
But when the hitter shows his paces
I like to note the varied faces—
Shrewsbury's with grief in it,George Giffen's with relief in it,When Lyons puts his beef in itAnd planks her to the railings!
Shrewsbury's with grief in it,
George Giffen's with relief in it,
When Lyons puts his beef in it
And planks her to the railings!
For Hearne's deliveries are stale,And Lockwood's lightning does not thrive;That fielder's anything but paleWho goes great Gunns to stop the drive!The Nottingham Express!Hechases;Ilike to note the varied faces—
For Hearne's deliveries are stale,
And Lockwood's lightning does not thrive;
That fielder's anything but pale
Who goes great Gunns to stop the drive!
The Nottingham Express!Hechases;
Ilike to note the varied faces—
Shrewsbury's with grief in it,George Giffen's with relief in it,When Lyons puts his beef in itAnd planks her to the railings!
Shrewsbury's with grief in it,
George Giffen's with relief in it,
When Lyons puts his beef in it
And planks her to the railings!
Who is Kortright? what is HeThat Lang doth so commend him?Bowly, fierce and fast is he;The heaven such pace did lend himThat he might admired be.Fast he is, but is he fair?For throwing is unkindness.Those to libel him who dareDo only prove their blindness;And, being kicked, retract it there.Then to Kortright let us sing,That Kortright is excelling;He excels each rapid thingOnLordsorOvaldwelling.To him let us leather bring.
Who is Kortright? what is HeThat Lang doth so commend him?Bowly, fierce and fast is he;The heaven such pace did lend himThat he might admired be.Fast he is, but is he fair?For throwing is unkindness.Those to libel him who dareDo only prove their blindness;And, being kicked, retract it there.
Who is Kortright? what is HeThat Lang doth so commend him?Bowly, fierce and fast is he;The heaven such pace did lend himThat he might admired be.
Who is Kortright? what is He
That Lang doth so commend him?
Bowly, fierce and fast is he;
The heaven such pace did lend him
That he might admired be.
Fast he is, but is he fair?For throwing is unkindness.Those to libel him who dareDo only prove their blindness;And, being kicked, retract it there.
Fast he is, but is he fair?
For throwing is unkindness.
Those to libel him who dare
Do only prove their blindness;
And, being kicked, retract it there.
Then to Kortright let us sing,That Kortright is excelling;He excels each rapid thingOnLordsorOvaldwelling.To him let us leather bring.
Then to Kortright let us sing,That Kortright is excelling;He excels each rapid thingOnLordsorOvaldwelling.To him let us leather bring.
Then to Kortright let us sing,
That Kortright is excelling;
He excels each rapid thing
OnLordsorOvaldwelling.
To him let us leather bring.
Have you seen the golfers airyPrancing forth to their vagary,Just as frisky in their gaitersAs a flock of Grecian Satyrs,Looking everything heroic,And magnificently stoic,In a dress of such a patternAs would fright the good God Saturn?Have you heard them curse the sparrowFit to freeze your inmost marrow,When the ball, that should be flitting,On the grass remaineth sitting?Have you watched their cheerful scramblesIn the soft and soothing bramblesWhile the foe, elate and sneering,Passes gradually from hearing?After blaming all the witches,After rending holes in breeches,After getting in a muddleWith each rivulet and puddle,They return, all labour ended,To record their prowess splendid,And renew by dictionaryTheir fatigued vocabulary.Let these gentlemen ecstatic,In their costumes so emphatic,Crawl to find a rounded treasureIn the horse-pond at their pleasure.What so good when time is sunny,And the air as sweet as honey,As the game of crease and wicket,England's proper pastime—Cricket?
Have you seen the golfers airyPrancing forth to their vagary,Just as frisky in their gaitersAs a flock of Grecian Satyrs,Looking everything heroic,And magnificently stoic,In a dress of such a patternAs would fright the good God Saturn?Have you heard them curse the sparrowFit to freeze your inmost marrow,When the ball, that should be flitting,On the grass remaineth sitting?Have you watched their cheerful scramblesIn the soft and soothing bramblesWhile the foe, elate and sneering,Passes gradually from hearing?After blaming all the witches,After rending holes in breeches,After getting in a muddleWith each rivulet and puddle,They return, all labour ended,To record their prowess splendid,And renew by dictionaryTheir fatigued vocabulary.Let these gentlemen ecstatic,In their costumes so emphatic,Crawl to find a rounded treasureIn the horse-pond at their pleasure.What so good when time is sunny,And the air as sweet as honey,As the game of crease and wicket,England's proper pastime—Cricket?
Have you seen the golfers airyPrancing forth to their vagary,Just as frisky in their gaitersAs a flock of Grecian Satyrs,Looking everything heroic,And magnificently stoic,In a dress of such a patternAs would fright the good God Saturn?
Have you seen the golfers airy
Prancing forth to their vagary,
Just as frisky in their gaiters
As a flock of Grecian Satyrs,
Looking everything heroic,
And magnificently stoic,
In a dress of such a pattern
As would fright the good God Saturn?
Have you heard them curse the sparrowFit to freeze your inmost marrow,When the ball, that should be flitting,On the grass remaineth sitting?Have you watched their cheerful scramblesIn the soft and soothing bramblesWhile the foe, elate and sneering,Passes gradually from hearing?
Have you heard them curse the sparrow
Fit to freeze your inmost marrow,
When the ball, that should be flitting,
On the grass remaineth sitting?
Have you watched their cheerful scrambles
In the soft and soothing brambles
While the foe, elate and sneering,
Passes gradually from hearing?
After blaming all the witches,After rending holes in breeches,After getting in a muddleWith each rivulet and puddle,They return, all labour ended,To record their prowess splendid,And renew by dictionaryTheir fatigued vocabulary.
After blaming all the witches,
After rending holes in breeches,
After getting in a muddle
With each rivulet and puddle,
They return, all labour ended,
To record their prowess splendid,
And renew by dictionary
Their fatigued vocabulary.
Let these gentlemen ecstatic,In their costumes so emphatic,Crawl to find a rounded treasureIn the horse-pond at their pleasure.What so good when time is sunny,And the air as sweet as honey,As the game of crease and wicket,England's proper pastime—Cricket?
Let these gentlemen ecstatic,
In their costumes so emphatic,
Crawl to find a rounded treasure
In the horse-pond at their pleasure.
What so good when time is sunny,
And the air as sweet as honey,
As the game of crease and wicket,
England's proper pastime—Cricket?
That long-legged darling, Alice James,Plays cricket with the Johnson boys;A dozen engines could not makeSo shrill a noise.She's only twelve, and so, unfrockedBeyond her sometimes shameless knee;And never maiden longed so muchA boy to be.She puts on gloves and pads to bat,And makes young Johnson bowl her slows.Good heavens! How she pulled that ball!And how she goes!She's tumbled yards outside the crease,And is indisputably out.Another innings? Ah, how strongThat cherry pout!She keeps on batting all the time,And hammers Rupert Johnson's lobs;She also thumps Emilius's,And also Bob's!So, riding roughshod over rules,This long-legged Darling has her will;And when she's twenty, I expectShe will do still.
That long-legged darling, Alice James,Plays cricket with the Johnson boys;A dozen engines could not makeSo shrill a noise.She's only twelve, and so, unfrockedBeyond her sometimes shameless knee;And never maiden longed so muchA boy to be.She puts on gloves and pads to bat,And makes young Johnson bowl her slows.Good heavens! How she pulled that ball!And how she goes!
That long-legged darling, Alice James,Plays cricket with the Johnson boys;A dozen engines could not makeSo shrill a noise.
That long-legged darling, Alice James,
Plays cricket with the Johnson boys;
A dozen engines could not make
So shrill a noise.
She's only twelve, and so, unfrockedBeyond her sometimes shameless knee;And never maiden longed so muchA boy to be.
She's only twelve, and so, unfrocked
Beyond her sometimes shameless knee;
And never maiden longed so much
A boy to be.
She puts on gloves and pads to bat,And makes young Johnson bowl her slows.Good heavens! How she pulled that ball!And how she goes!
She puts on gloves and pads to bat,
And makes young Johnson bowl her slows.
Good heavens! How she pulled that ball!
And how she goes!
She's tumbled yards outside the crease,And is indisputably out.Another innings? Ah, how strongThat cherry pout!She keeps on batting all the time,And hammers Rupert Johnson's lobs;She also thumps Emilius's,And also Bob's!So, riding roughshod over rules,This long-legged Darling has her will;And when she's twenty, I expectShe will do still.
She's tumbled yards outside the crease,And is indisputably out.Another innings? Ah, how strongThat cherry pout!
She's tumbled yards outside the crease,
And is indisputably out.
Another innings? Ah, how strong
That cherry pout!
She keeps on batting all the time,And hammers Rupert Johnson's lobs;She also thumps Emilius's,And also Bob's!
She keeps on batting all the time,
And hammers Rupert Johnson's lobs;
She also thumps Emilius's,
And also Bob's!
So, riding roughshod over rules,This long-legged Darling has her will;And when she's twenty, I expectShe will do still.
So, riding roughshod over rules,
This long-legged Darling has her will;
And when she's twenty, I expect
She will do still.
If lightning-like you send her down,And yet the batsman scoresWith here a One and there a Two,And then a brace of Fours;If calmly confident he stands,And makes the leather flyPast all your slips to dash againstThe boundary palings, why—Toss him down a slow, you see,He's sure to have a go, you see;And ten to one the trick is doneBy just a bit of brains, you see!If round the wicket, medium pace,Won't make the batsman budge,Take special note of what he likes,And all his weakness judge.Suppose he does the leg-glance well,Or drives her hot and high,Or runs to smother each good ballAnd pulls the short ones, why—Sling him in a grub, you see,A ripping, wicked grub, you see;And ten to one the trick is doneBy just a pinch of wit, you see!But if with equal craft he meetsYour wiles, and does not blench;If ev'ry bowler in your teamDesires the restful bench,And there he stands, the unsubdued,With dauntless front and eye,Prepared to smack your choicest ballsTo realms unheard-of, why—Don't ask my advice, you see,No, not at any price, you see;But ten to one the trick were doneIf I were in your team, you see!
If lightning-like you send her down,And yet the batsman scoresWith here a One and there a Two,And then a brace of Fours;If calmly confident he stands,And makes the leather flyPast all your slips to dash againstThe boundary palings, why—Toss him down a slow, you see,He's sure to have a go, you see;And ten to one the trick is doneBy just a bit of brains, you see!
If lightning-like you send her down,And yet the batsman scoresWith here a One and there a Two,And then a brace of Fours;If calmly confident he stands,And makes the leather flyPast all your slips to dash againstThe boundary palings, why—Toss him down a slow, you see,He's sure to have a go, you see;And ten to one the trick is doneBy just a bit of brains, you see!
If lightning-like you send her down,
And yet the batsman scores
With here a One and there a Two,
And then a brace of Fours;
If calmly confident he stands,
And makes the leather fly
Past all your slips to dash against
The boundary palings, why—
Toss him down a slow, you see,
He's sure to have a go, you see;
And ten to one the trick is done
By just a bit of brains, you see!
If round the wicket, medium pace,Won't make the batsman budge,Take special note of what he likes,And all his weakness judge.Suppose he does the leg-glance well,Or drives her hot and high,Or runs to smother each good ballAnd pulls the short ones, why—Sling him in a grub, you see,A ripping, wicked grub, you see;And ten to one the trick is doneBy just a pinch of wit, you see!But if with equal craft he meetsYour wiles, and does not blench;If ev'ry bowler in your teamDesires the restful bench,And there he stands, the unsubdued,With dauntless front and eye,Prepared to smack your choicest ballsTo realms unheard-of, why—Don't ask my advice, you see,No, not at any price, you see;But ten to one the trick were doneIf I were in your team, you see!
If round the wicket, medium pace,Won't make the batsman budge,Take special note of what he likes,And all his weakness judge.Suppose he does the leg-glance well,Or drives her hot and high,Or runs to smother each good ballAnd pulls the short ones, why—Sling him in a grub, you see,A ripping, wicked grub, you see;And ten to one the trick is doneBy just a pinch of wit, you see!
If round the wicket, medium pace,
Won't make the batsman budge,
Take special note of what he likes,
And all his weakness judge.
Suppose he does the leg-glance well,
Or drives her hot and high,
Or runs to smother each good ball
And pulls the short ones, why—
Sling him in a grub, you see,
A ripping, wicked grub, you see;
And ten to one the trick is done
By just a pinch of wit, you see!
But if with equal craft he meetsYour wiles, and does not blench;If ev'ry bowler in your teamDesires the restful bench,And there he stands, the unsubdued,With dauntless front and eye,Prepared to smack your choicest ballsTo realms unheard-of, why—Don't ask my advice, you see,No, not at any price, you see;But ten to one the trick were doneIf I were in your team, you see!
But if with equal craft he meets
Your wiles, and does not blench;
If ev'ry bowler in your team
Desires the restful bench,
And there he stands, the unsubdued,
With dauntless front and eye,
Prepared to smack your choicest balls
To realms unheard-of, why—
Don't ask my advice, you see,
No, not at any price, you see;
But ten to one the trick were done
If I were in your team, you see!
Old Bag and Bat, no more togetherWe take the train to Barnes or Tooting;No more I'll gallop for the leather,Nor grumble when the ball keeps shooting:I've fetched her many a handsome cloutAt Rugby, Nottingham, and Dover;So far Old Time has said 'Not out!'But one day he will change to 'Over!'God bless the grilling days of Cricket!They're gone, but I shall bless them ever,For good it is to guard a wicketBy sudden wrist and big endeavour.Don't think I was a lazy loutWho never worked for days of clover;I earned my games. Time cries 'Not out!'But one day he will change to 'Over!'Well, I can stand behind the nettingAnd watch the 'Coach' so keen and trusty,Who likes to see the youngsters hitting,And teaches them to let out lusty!I've had my innings, not a doubt,And stopped a crack or so at Cover;I shall not funk when Time says 'Out!'And all my watching days are over.
Old Bag and Bat, no more togetherWe take the train to Barnes or Tooting;No more I'll gallop for the leather,Nor grumble when the ball keeps shooting:I've fetched her many a handsome cloutAt Rugby, Nottingham, and Dover;So far Old Time has said 'Not out!'But one day he will change to 'Over!'God bless the grilling days of Cricket!They're gone, but I shall bless them ever,For good it is to guard a wicketBy sudden wrist and big endeavour.Don't think I was a lazy loutWho never worked for days of clover;I earned my games. Time cries 'Not out!'But one day he will change to 'Over!'Well, I can stand behind the nettingAnd watch the 'Coach' so keen and trusty,Who likes to see the youngsters hitting,And teaches them to let out lusty!I've had my innings, not a doubt,And stopped a crack or so at Cover;I shall not funk when Time says 'Out!'And all my watching days are over.
Old Bag and Bat, no more togetherWe take the train to Barnes or Tooting;No more I'll gallop for the leather,Nor grumble when the ball keeps shooting:I've fetched her many a handsome cloutAt Rugby, Nottingham, and Dover;So far Old Time has said 'Not out!'But one day he will change to 'Over!'
Old Bag and Bat, no more together
We take the train to Barnes or Tooting;
No more I'll gallop for the leather,
Nor grumble when the ball keeps shooting:
I've fetched her many a handsome clout
At Rugby, Nottingham, and Dover;
So far Old Time has said 'Not out!'
But one day he will change to 'Over!'
God bless the grilling days of Cricket!They're gone, but I shall bless them ever,For good it is to guard a wicketBy sudden wrist and big endeavour.Don't think I was a lazy loutWho never worked for days of clover;I earned my games. Time cries 'Not out!'But one day he will change to 'Over!'
God bless the grilling days of Cricket!
They're gone, but I shall bless them ever,
For good it is to guard a wicket
By sudden wrist and big endeavour.
Don't think I was a lazy lout
Who never worked for days of clover;
I earned my games. Time cries 'Not out!'
But one day he will change to 'Over!'
Well, I can stand behind the nettingAnd watch the 'Coach' so keen and trusty,Who likes to see the youngsters hitting,And teaches them to let out lusty!I've had my innings, not a doubt,And stopped a crack or so at Cover;I shall not funk when Time says 'Out!'And all my watching days are over.
Well, I can stand behind the netting
And watch the 'Coach' so keen and trusty,
Who likes to see the youngsters hitting,
And teaches them to let out lusty!
I've had my innings, not a doubt,
And stopped a crack or so at Cover;
I shall not funk when Time says 'Out!'
And all my watching days are over.
Astronomers, working like niggers,Neck-deep in morasses of figures,From Cricketing vainly would wean usWith diagrams, even of Venus.We rather would watch a good bowlerThan Bears, be they little or Polar;And bar, though of masculine genus,Wise talk on the Transit of Venus.When Ladies atLordssaunter gailyWith Parsons (not musing on Paley),Old friend of my boyhood, between us,Then,thenis the Transit of Venus!
Astronomers, working like niggers,Neck-deep in morasses of figures,From Cricketing vainly would wean usWith diagrams, even of Venus.We rather would watch a good bowlerThan Bears, be they little or Polar;And bar, though of masculine genus,Wise talk on the Transit of Venus.When Ladies atLordssaunter gailyWith Parsons (not musing on Paley),Old friend of my boyhood, between us,Then,thenis the Transit of Venus!
Astronomers, working like niggers,Neck-deep in morasses of figures,From Cricketing vainly would wean usWith diagrams, even of Venus.
Astronomers, working like niggers,
Neck-deep in morasses of figures,
From Cricketing vainly would wean us
With diagrams, even of Venus.
We rather would watch a good bowlerThan Bears, be they little or Polar;And bar, though of masculine genus,Wise talk on the Transit of Venus.
We rather would watch a good bowler
Than Bears, be they little or Polar;
And bar, though of masculine genus,
Wise talk on the Transit of Venus.
When Ladies atLordssaunter gailyWith Parsons (not musing on Paley),Old friend of my boyhood, between us,Then,thenis the Transit of Venus!
When Ladies atLordssaunter gaily
With Parsons (not musing on Paley),
Old friend of my boyhood, between us,
Then,thenis the Transit of Venus!
O Bowler, Bowler, when the day is hot,Nor any more a wicket you can get;When Curl and Length and Pace are Gone to PotBefore the blade of him serenely set,ISlife worth living—life which only meansYour ev'ry ball receives stupendous Beans,And that dread Bat a mighty harvest gleansWhile your Analysis sinks deep in debt?He cuts the leather hard and square,Nor recks he if it shoots or kicks;He sends you clean beyond the screen,And lifts you o'er the Baths for six?O Bowler, Bowler, when the Swells all frownAnd say your non-success is due to Stodge;When you in vain invoke the House of BrownFor help the brilliant Batsman to dislodge,ISlife worth living—life which only sendsReproachful glances from despondent friends,A varied action and a change of ends,The subtle slow, the Daisy-cutter's dodge?The Batsman smacks you to the Courts,And drives you mad with cunning snicks;He wipes you clean beyond the screen,And crumps you o'er the Baths for six!O Bowler, Bowler, when the Captain calls'Let Longcroft try,' and places you at Point;When Cover whispers 'Brown, look out for squalls!'And, with a vengeance, times are out of joint,ISlife worth living—life which only bringsMis-fielding pains and most erratic flings,Which aid the Batsman's rapid regist'rings,But leave you praiseless, slanged and unanoint?The Batsman cuts the ball for five,Employing judgment, nerve, and tricks;He smites you clean beyond the screen,And carts you o'er the Baths for six!
O Bowler, Bowler, when the day is hot,Nor any more a wicket you can get;When Curl and Length and Pace are Gone to PotBefore the blade of him serenely set,ISlife worth living—life which only meansYour ev'ry ball receives stupendous Beans,And that dread Bat a mighty harvest gleansWhile your Analysis sinks deep in debt?He cuts the leather hard and square,Nor recks he if it shoots or kicks;He sends you clean beyond the screen,And lifts you o'er the Baths for six?
O Bowler, Bowler, when the day is hot,Nor any more a wicket you can get;When Curl and Length and Pace are Gone to PotBefore the blade of him serenely set,ISlife worth living—life which only meansYour ev'ry ball receives stupendous Beans,And that dread Bat a mighty harvest gleansWhile your Analysis sinks deep in debt?He cuts the leather hard and square,Nor recks he if it shoots or kicks;He sends you clean beyond the screen,And lifts you o'er the Baths for six?
O Bowler, Bowler, when the day is hot,
Nor any more a wicket you can get;
When Curl and Length and Pace are Gone to Pot
Before the blade of him serenely set,
ISlife worth living—life which only means
Your ev'ry ball receives stupendous Beans,
And that dread Bat a mighty harvest gleans
While your Analysis sinks deep in debt?
He cuts the leather hard and square,
Nor recks he if it shoots or kicks;
He sends you clean beyond the screen,
And lifts you o'er the Baths for six?
O Bowler, Bowler, when the Swells all frownAnd say your non-success is due to Stodge;When you in vain invoke the House of BrownFor help the brilliant Batsman to dislodge,ISlife worth living—life which only sendsReproachful glances from despondent friends,A varied action and a change of ends,The subtle slow, the Daisy-cutter's dodge?The Batsman smacks you to the Courts,And drives you mad with cunning snicks;He wipes you clean beyond the screen,And crumps you o'er the Baths for six!O Bowler, Bowler, when the Captain calls'Let Longcroft try,' and places you at Point;When Cover whispers 'Brown, look out for squalls!'And, with a vengeance, times are out of joint,ISlife worth living—life which only bringsMis-fielding pains and most erratic flings,Which aid the Batsman's rapid regist'rings,But leave you praiseless, slanged and unanoint?The Batsman cuts the ball for five,Employing judgment, nerve, and tricks;He smites you clean beyond the screen,And carts you o'er the Baths for six!
O Bowler, Bowler, when the Swells all frownAnd say your non-success is due to Stodge;When you in vain invoke the House of BrownFor help the brilliant Batsman to dislodge,ISlife worth living—life which only sendsReproachful glances from despondent friends,A varied action and a change of ends,The subtle slow, the Daisy-cutter's dodge?The Batsman smacks you to the Courts,And drives you mad with cunning snicks;He wipes you clean beyond the screen,And crumps you o'er the Baths for six!
O Bowler, Bowler, when the Swells all frown
And say your non-success is due to Stodge;
When you in vain invoke the House of Brown
For help the brilliant Batsman to dislodge,
ISlife worth living—life which only sends
Reproachful glances from despondent friends,
A varied action and a change of ends,
The subtle slow, the Daisy-cutter's dodge?
The Batsman smacks you to the Courts,
And drives you mad with cunning snicks;
He wipes you clean beyond the screen,
And crumps you o'er the Baths for six!
O Bowler, Bowler, when the Captain calls'Let Longcroft try,' and places you at Point;When Cover whispers 'Brown, look out for squalls!'And, with a vengeance, times are out of joint,ISlife worth living—life which only bringsMis-fielding pains and most erratic flings,Which aid the Batsman's rapid regist'rings,But leave you praiseless, slanged and unanoint?The Batsman cuts the ball for five,Employing judgment, nerve, and tricks;He smites you clean beyond the screen,And carts you o'er the Baths for six!
O Bowler, Bowler, when the Captain calls
'Let Longcroft try,' and places you at Point;
When Cover whispers 'Brown, look out for squalls!'
And, with a vengeance, times are out of joint,
ISlife worth living—life which only brings
Mis-fielding pains and most erratic flings,
Which aid the Batsman's rapid regist'rings,
But leave you praiseless, slanged and unanoint?
The Batsman cuts the ball for five,
Employing judgment, nerve, and tricks;
He smites you clean beyond the screen,
And carts you o'er the Baths for six!
I bowled three sanctified soulsWith three consecutive balls!What do I care if Blondin trodOver Niagara Falls?What do I care for the loon in the PitOr the gilded earl in the Stalls?I bowled three curates onceWith three consecutive balls!I caused three Protestant 'ducks'With three consecutive balls!Poets may rave of lily girlsDancing in marble halls!What do I care for a bevy of yachts,Or a dozen or so of yawls?I bowled three curates onceWith three consecutive balls!I bowled three cricketing priestsWith three consecutive balls!What if a critic pounds a book,What if an author squalls?What do I care if sciatica comes,Elephantiasis calls?I bowled three curates onceWith three consecutive balls!
I bowled three sanctified soulsWith three consecutive balls!What do I care if Blondin trodOver Niagara Falls?What do I care for the loon in the PitOr the gilded earl in the Stalls?I bowled three curates onceWith three consecutive balls!I caused three Protestant 'ducks'With three consecutive balls!Poets may rave of lily girlsDancing in marble halls!What do I care for a bevy of yachts,Or a dozen or so of yawls?I bowled three curates onceWith three consecutive balls!I bowled three cricketing priestsWith three consecutive balls!What if a critic pounds a book,What if an author squalls?What do I care if sciatica comes,Elephantiasis calls?I bowled three curates onceWith three consecutive balls!
I bowled three sanctified soulsWith three consecutive balls!What do I care if Blondin trodOver Niagara Falls?What do I care for the loon in the PitOr the gilded earl in the Stalls?I bowled three curates onceWith three consecutive balls!
I bowled three sanctified souls
With three consecutive balls!
What do I care if Blondin trod
Over Niagara Falls?
What do I care for the loon in the Pit
Or the gilded earl in the Stalls?
I bowled three curates once
With three consecutive balls!
I caused three Protestant 'ducks'With three consecutive balls!Poets may rave of lily girlsDancing in marble halls!What do I care for a bevy of yachts,Or a dozen or so of yawls?I bowled three curates onceWith three consecutive balls!
I caused three Protestant 'ducks'
With three consecutive balls!
Poets may rave of lily girls
Dancing in marble halls!
What do I care for a bevy of yachts,
Or a dozen or so of yawls?
I bowled three curates once
With three consecutive balls!
I bowled three cricketing priestsWith three consecutive balls!What if a critic pounds a book,What if an author squalls?What do I care if sciatica comes,Elephantiasis calls?I bowled three curates onceWith three consecutive balls!
I bowled three cricketing priests
With three consecutive balls!
What if a critic pounds a book,
What if an author squalls?
What do I care if sciatica comes,
Elephantiasis calls?
I bowled three curates once
With three consecutive balls!
Last week, when conning CiceroIn New Big School,Smith called me, by a paraphrase,A senseless mule:I wasn't sharp enough just thenTo answer, Jack,That pots had oft been known to callThe kettles black!And in the Close the other dayHe called me 'Muff!'I think I've borne his impudenceQuite long enough!From length to length abusive menCan quickly pass,So I was hardly staggered whenHe called me 'Ass!'But in the nets on Friday eveI long did toilTo make old Smith rub in at nightSt. Jacob's Oil!If on the Smithian shins remainsAn unbruised inchMy name is not BartholomewEzekiel Finch!
Last week, when conning CiceroIn New Big School,Smith called me, by a paraphrase,A senseless mule:I wasn't sharp enough just thenTo answer, Jack,That pots had oft been known to callThe kettles black!And in the Close the other dayHe called me 'Muff!'I think I've borne his impudenceQuite long enough!From length to length abusive menCan quickly pass,So I was hardly staggered whenHe called me 'Ass!'But in the nets on Friday eveI long did toilTo make old Smith rub in at nightSt. Jacob's Oil!If on the Smithian shins remainsAn unbruised inchMy name is not BartholomewEzekiel Finch!
Last week, when conning CiceroIn New Big School,Smith called me, by a paraphrase,A senseless mule:I wasn't sharp enough just thenTo answer, Jack,That pots had oft been known to callThe kettles black!
Last week, when conning Cicero
In New Big School,
Smith called me, by a paraphrase,
A senseless mule:
I wasn't sharp enough just then
To answer, Jack,
That pots had oft been known to call
The kettles black!
And in the Close the other dayHe called me 'Muff!'I think I've borne his impudenceQuite long enough!From length to length abusive menCan quickly pass,So I was hardly staggered whenHe called me 'Ass!'
And in the Close the other day
He called me 'Muff!'
I think I've borne his impudence
Quite long enough!
From length to length abusive men
Can quickly pass,
So I was hardly staggered when
He called me 'Ass!'
But in the nets on Friday eveI long did toilTo make old Smith rub in at nightSt. Jacob's Oil!If on the Smithian shins remainsAn unbruised inchMy name is not BartholomewEzekiel Finch!
But in the nets on Friday eve
I long did toil
To make old Smith rub in at night
St. Jacob's Oil!
If on the Smithian shins remains
An unbruised inch
My name is not Bartholomew
Ezekiel Finch!
The leader was mightily pleased when he sawThat vanguard of his, with their trailing spears,Stand up from their stoop by a common lawAnd welcome the sea with a round of cheers!No doubt that he laughed as he drank his fillOf the plundered wine in his golden cup;But he knew not joy as an English boyWith his summer-time shout—'Chuck her up!'And doubtless Columbus by hope deferred,Wan, weary and worn, was down in the dumpsTill they brought him news of a mainland bird,And fished up a couple of floating 'pumps.'However polished the Portuguese phraseThat left his lips like a shot from aKrupp,Allowing for dates I find it translatesBy our cricketing shout—'Chuck her up!'How decent when free of each Latin ruleTo dash on your whites and rush to the field,To do or die for the sake of your schoolWhere many have slogged and many appealed!You feel in your heart like such chaps as Grace,Or Surrey's old glory, the steadfast Jupp,When you yell 'How's that?' to the Umpire, Pratt,And the oracle says—'Chuck her up!''Twas a catch that dismissed the finest foe,And your Captain hastens to pat your back!So you modestly call it a fluke, and showThe mark through the glove and the thumbnail's crack:ButPater, watching the match from the tent,Remembers your wish for a Bernard pup,And makes up his mind to be extra kindFor the sake of the shout—'Chuck her up!'Thus, too, when our Lion is great again,And roars at the tramp of advancing foes,You may purchase praise by a twinge of painIn the midst of battle and giant blows!And next, when the English Flag's on the hill—Though many are never again to sup—For love of your land where the words were plannedCry out to your men—'Chuck her up!'
The leader was mightily pleased when he sawThat vanguard of his, with their trailing spears,Stand up from their stoop by a common lawAnd welcome the sea with a round of cheers!No doubt that he laughed as he drank his fillOf the plundered wine in his golden cup;But he knew not joy as an English boyWith his summer-time shout—'Chuck her up!'And doubtless Columbus by hope deferred,Wan, weary and worn, was down in the dumpsTill they brought him news of a mainland bird,And fished up a couple of floating 'pumps.'However polished the Portuguese phraseThat left his lips like a shot from aKrupp,Allowing for dates I find it translatesBy our cricketing shout—'Chuck her up!'How decent when free of each Latin ruleTo dash on your whites and rush to the field,To do or die for the sake of your schoolWhere many have slogged and many appealed!You feel in your heart like such chaps as Grace,Or Surrey's old glory, the steadfast Jupp,When you yell 'How's that?' to the Umpire, Pratt,And the oracle says—'Chuck her up!''Twas a catch that dismissed the finest foe,And your Captain hastens to pat your back!So you modestly call it a fluke, and showThe mark through the glove and the thumbnail's crack:ButPater, watching the match from the tent,Remembers your wish for a Bernard pup,And makes up his mind to be extra kindFor the sake of the shout—'Chuck her up!'Thus, too, when our Lion is great again,And roars at the tramp of advancing foes,You may purchase praise by a twinge of painIn the midst of battle and giant blows!And next, when the English Flag's on the hill—Though many are never again to sup—For love of your land where the words were plannedCry out to your men—'Chuck her up!'
The leader was mightily pleased when he sawThat vanguard of his, with their trailing spears,Stand up from their stoop by a common lawAnd welcome the sea with a round of cheers!No doubt that he laughed as he drank his fillOf the plundered wine in his golden cup;But he knew not joy as an English boyWith his summer-time shout—'Chuck her up!'
The leader was mightily pleased when he saw
That vanguard of his, with their trailing spears,
Stand up from their stoop by a common law
And welcome the sea with a round of cheers!
No doubt that he laughed as he drank his fill
Of the plundered wine in his golden cup;
But he knew not joy as an English boy
With his summer-time shout—'Chuck her up!'
And doubtless Columbus by hope deferred,Wan, weary and worn, was down in the dumpsTill they brought him news of a mainland bird,And fished up a couple of floating 'pumps.'However polished the Portuguese phraseThat left his lips like a shot from aKrupp,Allowing for dates I find it translatesBy our cricketing shout—'Chuck her up!'
And doubtless Columbus by hope deferred,
Wan, weary and worn, was down in the dumps
Till they brought him news of a mainland bird,
And fished up a couple of floating 'pumps.'
However polished the Portuguese phrase
That left his lips like a shot from aKrupp,
Allowing for dates I find it translates
By our cricketing shout—'Chuck her up!'
How decent when free of each Latin ruleTo dash on your whites and rush to the field,To do or die for the sake of your schoolWhere many have slogged and many appealed!You feel in your heart like such chaps as Grace,Or Surrey's old glory, the steadfast Jupp,When you yell 'How's that?' to the Umpire, Pratt,And the oracle says—'Chuck her up!'
How decent when free of each Latin rule
To dash on your whites and rush to the field,
To do or die for the sake of your school
Where many have slogged and many appealed!
You feel in your heart like such chaps as Grace,
Or Surrey's old glory, the steadfast Jupp,
When you yell 'How's that?' to the Umpire, Pratt,
And the oracle says—'Chuck her up!'
'Twas a catch that dismissed the finest foe,And your Captain hastens to pat your back!So you modestly call it a fluke, and showThe mark through the glove and the thumbnail's crack:ButPater, watching the match from the tent,Remembers your wish for a Bernard pup,And makes up his mind to be extra kindFor the sake of the shout—'Chuck her up!'
'Twas a catch that dismissed the finest foe,
And your Captain hastens to pat your back!
So you modestly call it a fluke, and show
The mark through the glove and the thumbnail's crack:
ButPater, watching the match from the tent,
Remembers your wish for a Bernard pup,
And makes up his mind to be extra kind
For the sake of the shout—'Chuck her up!'
Thus, too, when our Lion is great again,And roars at the tramp of advancing foes,You may purchase praise by a twinge of painIn the midst of battle and giant blows!And next, when the English Flag's on the hill—Though many are never again to sup—For love of your land where the words were plannedCry out to your men—'Chuck her up!'
Thus, too, when our Lion is great again,
And roars at the tramp of advancing foes,
You may purchase praise by a twinge of pain
In the midst of battle and giant blows!
And next, when the English Flag's on the hill—
Though many are never again to sup—
For love of your land where the words were planned
Cry out to your men—'Chuck her up!'
When that I was a little ladI dearly loved Amelia James;She always seemed sunshiny glad,And took such notice of the games!Selina, who was Acton's pet,Distinctly looked prepared to scratch;She never stood behind the net,And never came to watch a match.But Miss Amelia took such prideIn all our study and our sport,That once I think she nearly criedWhen half our team got out for nought.She knew the secrets of the slips;And when a friend or foe played wellA cheer came from her kindly lipsThat made a fellow feel a Swell!We loved to see her freckled face,We loved to hear her jolly fun;We searched her out a shady place,And clapped with her the stolen run.I loved her most of all the men,For Mother's eyes were such a blue;I loved her as a boy of tenCan love a girl of twenty-two!One day we played a rival team,And I made eighty-four, not out;I knew Amelia's face would beam,And sometimes heard her pretty shout!At night the Doctor sent for meAnd said my feat was not amiss;Miss James, though, took me on her kneeAnd thanked me with a clinking kiss.
When that I was a little ladI dearly loved Amelia James;She always seemed sunshiny glad,And took such notice of the games!Selina, who was Acton's pet,Distinctly looked prepared to scratch;She never stood behind the net,And never came to watch a match.But Miss Amelia took such prideIn all our study and our sport,That once I think she nearly criedWhen half our team got out for nought.
When that I was a little ladI dearly loved Amelia James;She always seemed sunshiny glad,And took such notice of the games!
When that I was a little lad
I dearly loved Amelia James;
She always seemed sunshiny glad,
And took such notice of the games!
Selina, who was Acton's pet,Distinctly looked prepared to scratch;She never stood behind the net,And never came to watch a match.
Selina, who was Acton's pet,
Distinctly looked prepared to scratch;
She never stood behind the net,
And never came to watch a match.
But Miss Amelia took such prideIn all our study and our sport,That once I think she nearly criedWhen half our team got out for nought.
But Miss Amelia took such pride
In all our study and our sport,
That once I think she nearly cried
When half our team got out for nought.
She knew the secrets of the slips;And when a friend or foe played wellA cheer came from her kindly lipsThat made a fellow feel a Swell!We loved to see her freckled face,We loved to hear her jolly fun;We searched her out a shady place,And clapped with her the stolen run.I loved her most of all the men,For Mother's eyes were such a blue;I loved her as a boy of tenCan love a girl of twenty-two!One day we played a rival team,And I made eighty-four, not out;I knew Amelia's face would beam,And sometimes heard her pretty shout!
She knew the secrets of the slips;And when a friend or foe played wellA cheer came from her kindly lipsThat made a fellow feel a Swell!
She knew the secrets of the slips;
And when a friend or foe played well
A cheer came from her kindly lips
That made a fellow feel a Swell!
We loved to see her freckled face,We loved to hear her jolly fun;We searched her out a shady place,And clapped with her the stolen run.
We loved to see her freckled face,
We loved to hear her jolly fun;
We searched her out a shady place,
And clapped with her the stolen run.
I loved her most of all the men,For Mother's eyes were such a blue;I loved her as a boy of tenCan love a girl of twenty-two!
I loved her most of all the men,
For Mother's eyes were such a blue;
I loved her as a boy of ten
Can love a girl of twenty-two!
One day we played a rival team,And I made eighty-four, not out;I knew Amelia's face would beam,And sometimes heard her pretty shout!
One day we played a rival team,
And I made eighty-four, not out;
I knew Amelia's face would beam,
And sometimes heard her pretty shout!
At night the Doctor sent for meAnd said my feat was not amiss;Miss James, though, took me on her kneeAnd thanked me with a clinking kiss.
At night the Doctor sent for meAnd said my feat was not amiss;Miss James, though, took me on her kneeAnd thanked me with a clinking kiss.
At night the Doctor sent for me
And said my feat was not amiss;
Miss James, though, took me on her knee
And thanked me with a clinking kiss.