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! _He_ chases; _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! LIGHTNING (GREASED) 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 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 thing On _Lords_ or _Oval_ dwelling. To him let us leather bring. GOLF STEALS OUR YOUTH 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 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 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 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? A TOMBOY 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, 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'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!