Summary

Mr. Punch's Book of Sport

You may play the game of Cricket, like the men well known to fame,
And be good "all round," like some folks at that fascinating game;
You may bowl like Mr. Spofforth at the Demon's deadly pace,
You may lead a team like Harris, and may bat like Doctor Grace;
But in vain your skill and prowess—can you dare to win the day,
Although hope may spring eternal, when the Ladies come to play?
They have conquered us at Croquet, though philosophers might scoff,
And the masculine intelligence was beaten by "two off."
Source: Gutenberg

Mr. Punch's Book of Sport

Bowler. "How's that?" Umpire. "Wasn't looking. But if 'e does it again, 'e's out!"
CROQUET
O feeblest game, how strange if you should rise
To favour, vice tennis superseded!
And yet beneath such glowing summer skies
When wildest energy is invalided,
Mere hitting balls through little hoops
Seems work enough. One merely stoops,
And lounges round; no other toil is needed.
Upon a breezy lawn beneath the shade
Of rustling trees that hide the sky so sunny,
I'll play, no steady game as would be played
By solemn, earnest folks as though for money
For love is better. Simply stoop,
And hit the ball.
Source: Gutenberg

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