Ye strikers, observe when the foe shall draw nigh;
Mark the bowler, advancing with vigilant eye;
Your skill all depends upon distance and sight,
Stand firm to your scratch, let your bat be upright.
Derry down, &c.
And now the game's o'er, IO victory! rings,
Echo doubles her chorus, and Fame spreads her wings;
Let's now hail our champions all steady and true,
Such as Homer ne'er sung of, nor Pindar e'er knew.
Derry down, &c.
Buck, Curry, and Hogsflesh, and Barber and Brett,
Whose swiftness in bowling was ne'er equalled yet;
I had almost forgot, they deserve a large bumper;
Little George, the long-stop, and Tom Sueter, the stumper.
Derry down, &c.
Then why should we fear either Sackville or Mann,
Or repine at the loss both of Boyton and Lann?—
With such troops as those we'll be lords of the game,
Spite of Minshull and Miller, and Lumpy and Frame.
Derry down, &c.
Then fill up your glass, he's the best that drinks most.
Here 's the Hambledon Club!—who refuses the toast?
Let's join in the praise of the bat and the wicket,
And sing in full chorus the patrons of cricket.
Derry down, &c.
Page:The Hambledon Men (1907).djvu/88
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52
THE HAMBLEDON MEN