Old Death will have his chance to scoff;
For up his sleeve he's got a trimmer
Bound to come a yard from the off!
It'll do me down! But if he's a chap, Sir,
Able to tell a job well done,
No doubt he'll give his foe a clap, Sir,
Walkin' out of the crease an' sun.

'Tis more than forty years I've tasted
Sweet and bitter supplied by Luck,
Never thinkin' an hour was wasted,
Whether I blobbed or whether I stuck.
Long as I had some kind of wicket,
'Twas never the wrong 'un, fast or slow;
An' I thank my stars I took to Cricket
Seven-an'-fifty years ago!

The game's been missus an' kids to me, Sir--
Aye, an' a rare good girl she's been!
I met her first at my father's knee, Sir,
An' married her young on Richmond Green.
An' as she's proved so true a lover,
Never inclined to scratch or scold,
When the long day's fun at last is over,
I'll love her still in the churchyard cold!

I've never twisted my brain with thinkin'
The way life goes in the world above,
But lessons here there ain't no blinkin'
Make me guess that the Umpire's Love!