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Messrs Bat and Ball

By Norman Gale

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32

WHY?

Why think a drop or two of rain will hurt
Your cricket shirt?
Why haste so soon to scatter in affright
From dirty light?
Why do to me what I should never do,
My lads, to you?
Why work so hard to make, by plod, plod, plod,
The Ringside nod?
Why, being padded, scratch about like pens
Of languid hens?
Why bury, rather than restore to fame,
Britannia's Game?