Among the shocks that laid us flat
When WILLIAM loosed his wanton hordes
There fell no bloodier blow than that
Which turned our niblicks into swords;
And O how bitter England's cup,
In what despair the order sunk her
That called her Cincinnati up
When busy ploughing in the bunker!

Even with those who stuck it out,
Bravely defying public shame,
Visions of trenches knocked about
Would often spoil their usual game;
Rumours of victory dearly bought,
Or else of bad strategic hitches,
Disturbed their concentrated thought
And put them off their mashie pitches.

Now comes a menace yet more rude
That puts us even further off;
It says the nation's need of food
Must come before the claims of golf;
We hear of parties going round,
Aided by local War-Committees,
To violate our sacred ground
By planting veg. along our "pretties."

If there be truth in that report,
Then have we reached the limit, viz.:--
The ruin of that manly sport