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. A Boundary
2. Out
3. Star-Gazing
4. A Wigging
5. Cricket and Cupid

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