The Wiccamical Chaplet a selection of original poetry; comprising smaller poems, serious and comic; classical trifles; sonnets; inscriptions and epitaphs; songs and ballads; mock-heroics, epigrams, fragments, &c. &c. Edited by George Huddesford |
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CRICKET-SONG.
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 | The Wiccamical Chaplet |  |
131
CRICKET-SONG.
For the Hambledon-Club, Hants, 1767.
Attend all ye Muses, and join to rehearse
An old English Sport, never prais'd yet in verse!
'Tis Cricket I sing, of illustrious fame,
No nation e'er boasted so noble a game.
An old English Sport, never prais'd yet in verse!
'Tis Cricket I sing, of illustrious fame,
No nation e'er boasted so noble a game.
Great Pindar has bragg'd of his heroes of old,
Some were swift in the race, some in battle were bold;
The brows of the victors with olive were crown'd,
Hark, they shout! and Olympia returns the glad sound!
Some were swift in the race, some in battle were bold;
The brows of the victors with olive were crown'd,
Hark, they shout! and Olympia returns the glad sound!
What boasting of Castor and Pollux his brother,
The one fam'd for riding, for bruising the other!
Yet compar'd with our heroes they'll not shine at all,
What are Castor and Pollux to Nyren and Small!
The one fam'd for riding, for bruising the other!
Yet compar'd with our heroes they'll not shine at all,
What are Castor and Pollux to Nyren and Small!
Here's guarding, and catching, and throwing, and tossing,
And striking, and bowling, and running, and crossing;
Each mate must excel in some principal part,
The Pentathlon of Greece could not shew so much art.
And striking, and bowling, and running, and crossing;
Each mate must excel in some principal part,
The Pentathlon of Greece could not shew so much art.
The parties are met, and array'd all in white,
Fam'd Elis ne'er boasted so noble a sight:
Each Nymph looks askance at her favourite swain,
And views him half stripp'd both with pleasure and pain.
Fam'd Elis ne'er boasted so noble a sight:
Each Nymph looks askance at her favourite swain,
And views him half stripp'd both with pleasure and pain.
132
Now the wickets are pitch'd and they've measur'd the ground,
Strait they form a large ring, and stand gazing around:
Since Ajax fought Hector, in sight of all Troy;
Ne'er a contest was seen with such fear and such joy.
Strait they form a large ring, and stand gazing around:
Since Ajax fought Hector, in sight of all Troy;
Ne'er a contest was seen with such fear and such joy.
Ye Bowlers take heed, to my precepts attend:
On you the whole fate of the game must depend;
Spare your vigour at first, nor exert all your strength,
But measure each step, and be sure pitch your length!
On you the whole fate of the game must depend;
Spare your vigour at first, nor exert all your strength,
But measure each step, and be sure pitch your length!
Ye Strikers observe, when the foe shall draw nigh,
Mark the Bowler advancing—with vigilant eye;
Your success all depends upon distance and sight,
Stand firm to your Scratch, let your Bat be upright!
Mark the Bowler advancing—with vigilant eye;
Your success all depends upon distance and sight,
Stand firm to your Scratch, let your Bat be upright!
Ye Fieldsmen look sharp—lest your pains you beguile;
Move close, like an army, in rank and in file;
When the Ball is return'd back it sure, for I trow
Whole states have been ruin'd by one over-throw.
Move close, like an army, in rank and in file;
When the Ball is return'd back it sure, for I trow
Whole states have been ruin'd by one over-throw.
At length the game's o'er, Iö Victory rings!
Echo doubles her Chorus and Fame spreads her wings!
Let's now hail our champions, all steady and true:
Such as Homer ne'er sung of, and Pindar ne'er knew.
Echo doubles her Chorus and Fame spreads her wings!
Let's now hail our champions, all steady and true:
Such as Homer ne'er sung of, and Pindar ne'er knew.
Buck, Curry, and Hogsflesh, and Barber, and Bret,
Whose swiftness in Bowling was ne'er equall'd yet;
I had almost forgot—they deserve a large bumper—
Little George, the long Stop, and Tom Suter, the Stumper.
Whose swiftness in Bowling was ne'er equall'd yet;
I had almost forgot—they deserve a large bumper—
Little George, the long Stop, and Tom Suter, the Stumper.
133
Then why should we fear either Sackville or Mann,
Or repine at the loss of both Boyton and Lann?
With such troops as these we'll be Lords of the Game,
Spite of Mincing, and Miller, and Lumpy, and Frame.
Or repine at the loss of both Boyton and Lann?
With such troops as these we'll be Lords of the Game,
Spite of Mincing, and Miller, and Lumpy, and Frame.
Then fill up your glass!—He's the best who drinks most:
Here's the Hambledon Club!—Who refuses the toast?
Let us join in the praise of the Bat and the Wicket,
And sing in full Chorus the Patrons of Cricket.
Here's the Hambledon Club!—Who refuses the toast?
Let us join in the praise of the Bat and the Wicket,
And sing in full Chorus the Patrons of Cricket.
When we've play'd our last Game, and our fate shall draw nigh,
(For the Heroes of Cricket, like others, must die),
Our Bats we'll resign, neither troubled nor vext,
And surrender our Wickets to those that come next.
(For the Heroes of Cricket, like others, must die),
Our Bats we'll resign, neither troubled nor vext,
And surrender our Wickets to those that come next.
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