More Cricket Songs

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Title: More Cricket Songs
Author: Norman Gale
Release Date: August 13, 2004 [EBook #13167]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
0. START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MORE
CRICKET SONGS ***
Produced by Michael Ciesielski, Cathy Smith and PG Distributed
Proofreaders
MORE CRICKET SONGS
by Norman Gale
Author of "Cricket Songs" "Barty's Star" "A Country Muse" And other
works.
1905
DEAR JOHN DENTON,
Not long ago you reminded me that once, when you were a boy and I
was a schoolmaster, I was angry with you because you pouted all
through a lesson in arithmetic. Let bygones be bygones, and accept as a

proof of my continuing friendship the dedication of this little volume,
in which there are no other sums than those of the Telegraph.
Most sincerely yours,
NORMAN GALE.
Here's to the lad with his useful Fifteen,
Here's to the Bowler that's
thrifty,
Here's to the Bat who is Lord of the Green
With his frequent
and thundering Fifty!
For their courtesy in allowing him to reprint some of these songs the
Author thanks the Editor of The Westminster Gazette, Prince
Ranjitsinhji, Mr. James Bowden, the Editor of The Country, and the
Editor of The Sun.
OILING
THE GOLDEN GAME
THE FEMALE BOY
THE
DARK BOWLER
UNCLE BOB INDIGNANT
THE TUTOR'S
LAMENT
A WIGGING
THE TWO KINGS
THE APPEAL

THE OLYMPIANS
THE OLD PROFESSIONAL
FIVE
YEARS AFTER
DOCTOR CRICKET
PHILOSOPHY
THE
ENTHUSIAST
CRICKET AND CUPID
A BOUNDARY

THE COMMENTATOR
LUCKY LADS
CRICKET IN THE
GARDEN
THE PRINCE, BATTING
THE REASON
A
LONG GRACE
REMEMBER, PLEASE!
THE
FORERUNNERS
NET PRACTICE
THE CATCH OF THE
SEASON
OILING.
_(A Song In and Out of Season.)_
Excuse me, Sweetheart, if I smear,
With wisdom learnt from ancient
teachers,
Now winter time once more is here,
This grease upon your
lengthy features!
Behaving thus, your loyal friend

No whit
encourages deception:
Believe me, Fairest, in the end
This oil will

better your complexion.
Fairest, believe!
Did you imagine in the bag
To sleep the sleep of Rip Van Winkle,

Removed from sunshine's golden flag
And duller daylight's smallest
twinkle?
Well have you earned your rest; but yet,
Although
disturbance seem uncivil,
Unless your cheeks and chin be wet
With
oil, your beauteousness will shrivel.
Rarest, believe!
Absorb, that, when for our delight
The May unpacks its lovely
blossom,
With beaming face, with shoulders bright
You leave the
bag's congenial bosom.
Then shall the Lover and his Lass
Walk out
toward the pitch together,
And, glorying in the shaven grass,
Tackle,
with mutual faith, the leather.
Dearest, absorb!
THE GOLDEN GAME.
If ever there was a Golden Game
To brace the nerves, to cure
repining,
To put the Dumps to flight and shame,
It's Cricket when
the sun is shining!
Gentlemen, toss the foolscap by,
Gentlemen,
change from books to leather!
Breathe your fill of the breeze from the
hill,
Thanking Bliss for the great blue weather.
If ever there was a bag could beat
The box possessed by Miss
Pandora,
'Tis that in which there cuddle neat
The tools to shape the
flying Fourer.
Gentlemen, watch the purple ball!
Gentlemen, keep
your wits in tether!
Take your joy with the heart of a boy
Under the
dome of the big blue weather.
If ever I feel my veins abound
With zealous blood more fit for
Twenty,
'Tis when upon the shaven ground
Fair Fortune gives me
runs in plenty.
Gentlemen all, while sinews last,
Bat ye, bowl ye,
friends together!
Play the play till the end of your day,
Mellowest
mates in the big blue weather!

But ever the ancient tale is told,
And History (the jade!) repeated:

By Time, who's never over-bowled,
At last we find ourselves
defeated.
Gentlemen all, though stiff we be,
Youth comes along in
finest feather,
Just as keen as we all have been
Out on the turf in the
great blue weather!
There's ever the deathless solace left--
To gaze at younger heroes
smiting,
Of neither grit nor hope bereft,
Up to the end for victory
fighting.
Gentlemen all, we taste delight,
Banished now from the
stream and heather,
Calm and cool on an old camp-stool,
Watching
the game in the big blue weather!
THE FEMALE BOY.
If cursed by a son who declined to play cricket,
(Supposing him
sound and sufficient in thews,)
I'd larrup him well with the third of a
wicket,
Selecting safe parts of his body to bruise.
In his mind such
an urchin King Solomon had
When he said, Spare the stump, and you
bungle the lad!
For what in the world is the use of a creature
All flabbily bent on
avoiding the Pitch?
Who wanders about, with a sob in each feature,

Devising a headache, inventing a stitch?
There surely would be a
quick end to my joy
If possessed of that monster--the feminine boy!--
The feminine boy who declines upon croquet,
Or halma, or spillikins
(horrible sport!),
Or any amusement that's female and pokey,
And
flatly objects to behave as he ought!
I know him of