If lightning-like you send her down, And yet the batsman scores With here a One and there a Two, And then a brace of Fours; If calmly confident he stands, And makes the leather fly Past all your slips to dash against The boundary palings, why-- Toss him down a slow, you see, He's sure to have a go, you see; And ten to one the trick is done By just a bit of brains, you see! If round the wicket, medium pace, Won't make the batsman budge, Take special note of what he likes, And all his weakness judge. Suppose he does the leg-glance well, Or drives her hot and high, Or runs to smother each good ball And pulls the short ones, why-- Sling him in a grub, you see, A ripping, wicked grub, you see; And ten to one the trick is done By just a pinch of wit, you see! But if with equal craft he meets Your wiles, and does not blench; If ev'ry bowler in your team Desires the restful bench, And there he stands, the unsubdued, With dauntless front and eye, Prepared to smack your choicest balls To realms unheard-of, why-- Don't ask my advice, you see, No, not at any price, you see; But ten to one the trick were done If I were in your team, you see!
Norman Rowland Gale’s other poems:
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