Page:Mr. Punch's Book of Sports.djvu/62

Mr. Punch's Book of Sports Our tailor's cut is world-renowned;

The coachman's drives are rare;

He'll either cart you from the ground

Or go home with a pair.

The village constable is stout,

Yet tries short runs to win:

They say he's run more people out

Than ever he ran in.

The curate (captain) every match

Bowls piffle doomed to slaughter,

But still is thought a splendid catch—

By the vicar's elderly daughter. The watchmaker winds up the side,

But fails to time his pulls;

By now he must be well supplied

With pairs of spectacles.

Our umpire's fair; he says "Not Out,"

Or "Out," just as he thinks;

And gives the benefit of the doubt

To all who stand him drinks.

No beatings (beatings are the rule)

Can make our pride diminish;

Last week we downed the Blind Boys' School

After a glorious finish!

—"Take 'Art of !"

—Rest for the wicket.