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!' 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 of _Lords_ You _must_ loose 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 must _sprint_! 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, _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 try To catch ev'ry catch be it low, hot, or high; And down with each overthrow, wide ball, or bye-- Buzz her in! A COLONIST 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 it And planks her to the railings!