The Rhyme of the Ancient Cricketer:
The sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the pavilion came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the crease.
And the good south wind still blew behind,
For down the slope he bowled,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the cricketers' hollo!
And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had bowled the opener
That made the runs and hits.
Ah wretch! said they, the batsman to slay,
That made the runs and hits!
Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had bowled the opener
That brought the runs and hits.
'Twas right, said they, such men to slay,
That bring the runs and hits.
The fair breeze blew, the white ball flew,
The batter followed thru;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent crease.
Down dropped the breeze, the bails dropped down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to sledge
The silence of the crease!
All in a hot and copper sky,
The lunchbreak will come soon,
Right up above the floodlight did stand,
No bigger than the moon.
Over after over, maiden after maiden,
He stuck, nor run nor motion;
As idle as Geoff Boycott
Upon a sticky wicket.
Fours, Fours, every where,
And all the averages did shrink;
Wides, wides, every where,
Nor any dropped at slip.