THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT CRICKETER

(With apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge)

An ancient cricketer It is an ancient cricketer and he stoppeth one of three.

goeth in to bat The others whistle past his ear or strike him on the knee.

The pavilion gate is open wide and he is last man in.

With creaking joints he walketh forth,
thirty to make to win.

He sendeth a catch to His bat is in his skinny hand, there are three slips
First slip, who droppeth thinks he.
It. He sneeks a ball up to the first, eftsoons the catch
Drops he.

His opponents beat A chance! A chance! Another chance!

their bosoms The cricketer giveth three.
The fielding captain beats his breast
And curseth him roundly.

The field was there, the field was here,

So thick upon the ground;
They crouched and growled and appealed and howled
The cricketer’s bat around.

Fielders, fielders, everywhere,

About his bat did creep.
Fielders, fielders everywhere,
Nor anyone in the deep.

The cricketer doth God save thee, Ancient Cricketer!

Fear he hath a hole Have mercy on thy soul!
In his bat. Like many men before thee gone,
Thy bat must have a hole.

Yet still the Cricketer batteth on,

A full half- hour bats he.
He doth not score a single run
Though he trieth mightily.

Although he scoreth ‘Tis done! ‘Tis done! The game is won

No runs, the cricketer And well and truly fought
Helpeth his side to win. The cricketer limpeth happily in
Altough his score was nought.

He batteth best, who scoreth most,

And hath but little luck.
Yet though the cricketer made no runs
It was a noble duck.

MICHAEL GREEN, Book of coarse sport (1965)