GOLF VICTOR!
Sir Golf and Sir Tennis are fighting like mad—
Now Sir Tennis is blown, and Sir Golf's right above him,
And his face has a look that is weary and sad,
As he hastily turns to the ladies who love him,
But the racket falls from him, he totters, and swirls,
As he hears them cry, "Golf is the game for the girls!"
The girls crave for freedom, they cannot endure
To be cramped up at tennis in courts that are poky
And they are all of them certainly, perfectly sure
That they'll never again touch "that horrible croquet,"
Where it's quite on the cards that they may play with papa,
And where all that goes on is surveyed by mamma,
To golf on the downs for the whole of the day
Is "so awfully jolly," they keep on asserting,
With a good-looking fellow to teach you the way,
And to fill up the time with some innocent flirting,
And it may be the maiden is woo'd and is won,
Ere the whole of the round is completed and done.
Henceforward, then, golf is the game for the fair—
At home, and abroad, or in pastures colonial,
And the shouts of the ladies will quite fill the air
For the links that will turn into bonds matrimonial,
And for husbands our daughters in future will seek
With the powerful aid of the putter and cleek!
BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.