_Wicket-keeper._ Well, ye-e-s! But you were thought so jolly clever.
To me it seems 'tis your idea of Cricket
To smash the wicket-keeper--not the wicket.
Look at my hands! They're mostly good to cover me;
With _you_, by Jingo, I need pads all over me!

_Bowler._ Oh, well, you know, fast bowling, with a break,
Not every wicket-keeper's game to take.
You are not quite a SHERWIN or a WOOD,
Or even a McGREGOR. You're no good
At bowling that has real "devil" in it.

_Wicket-keeper._ The--dickens I am not! Just wait a minute!
I have stood up to GRANDOLPH at his wildest.
You know _his_ pitch and pace; not quite the mildest,
Scarce equal, certainly, to "demon" DIZZY,
But when he's on the spot he keeps one busy.
It's not your "devil," JOKIM, that I dread;
That's easy, when you're "bowling with your head,"
But when you sling them in, as you've done lately,
Swift but _not_ straight, why, then you vex me greatly.
Your pet fast bumpy ones, wide of the wicket,
Perhaps look showy, but they are not Cricket.

_Bowler._ Oh, bother! You're the crossest of old frumps.
Why, bless you, SMITH, I stood behind the stumps
Long before you put gloves on!

_Wicket-keeper._ I dare say,