The stumps, the ball, the burst of cheers, Sir!
Thus horse-play broke on Time's rough breakers
And gentler games were hero-makers.
Men ceased to crave for olden times,
Whose daily deeds were modern crimes,
But guarded stumps, and wrote their rhymes,
And helped to keep the land from crimes.

While Arthur and his Table Round
In dreams were jousting once again, Sir,
The wit of man conceived a plan
To marry willow-wood and cane, Sir.
Thereat the Stung became the Stinger;
Thereat arrived the Century-Bringer!
Mere muscle yielded to the wrist
Poised lightly over clenching fist.
Observe the phrase. I here insist
Mere muscle yielded to the wrist.

The knights of Arthur's Table True
Wore helmets, gorgets, plumes, and greaves, Sir;
While Tourneys stayed, big sport was played
Without the joy of turned-up sleeves, Sir!
But Cricket showed in armoured showing
Without these noble players knowing,
For when at Beauty's door they tapped
They oft were at the wicket snapped.
Be sure of this. With rage was mapped
Each face when at the wicket snapped.