Poem by Norman Rowland Gale

'Duck'

    When the Doctor pulls up as you pass in the street
              You know he will say:--
    'Well, Rogers, I hear that you suffered defeat--
              How many to-day?
    Not a hundred, I fear; but you always do well,
              And doubtless you stuck?'
    It is hard to admit that you could not excel
                      A 'duck.'

    For the bowling was easy, the wicket was true,
              And had it not been
    That you thought the slow trundler was guilty of _screw_
              You had driven it clean!
    How galling to read in the _Sportsman_ next day--
              What horrible luck!--
    'H. Rogers (the Captain) caught Grinstead, bowled May,
                      A "duck."'

    But 'tis worse when your Uncle and sweet Cousin Bell
              Come over to watch
    All your wonderful deeds as a very great Swell--
              The hope of the match!
    And Bell asks your score with a traitorous smile.
              More knowing than Puck;
    And you say (looking straight in her eyes all the while)
                      A 'duck.'

    But when Fogson, your rival, makes Four after Four,
              And Three after Three,
    And next a grand drive, that adds six to his score,
              Right over the tree,
    Bell's eyes with excitement delightedly flash--
              She praises his pluck!
    So you think that the worst of emphatical trash
                      Is 'duck.'

1. Up at Lords
2. The Church Cricketant
3. Five Years After
4. Cricket and Cupid
5. The Tutor's Lament

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