Your day's a thing of thirst and gloom?
Old chap, of course I'll see you through,
But--drop that rot about the tomb!
Let's overhaul your bag. A pair
Of noble bats to guard a wicket!
Out, Friend, to breathe the sunny air,
And wring the hand of Doctor Cricket!

Be healed; and shun the flabby gang
That tricked your taste with cards and drink,
When out of independence sprang
A silly downfall. Think, Tom, think!
While stupid lads debase their worth
In feather-headed Folly's thicket,
Get back your muscle and your mirth
Beneath the eye of Doctor Cricket!




PHILOSOPHY.


'Tis sometimes Fortune's little joke
With vinegar to brim the cup;
And on the grass this fickle Lass
Makes pennies come the wrong side up.
But though a Head instead of Tail
Is sure to greet my anxious call,
'Tis better to have tossed,