Shrews—bery!
Must shout when my countymen score, and don't mind being caught in the act, Sir.
Cracks didn't somehow come off. Arthur Shrewsbury, Notts' great nonsuch,
Didn't make fifty all told, and our Walter—the world holds but one such—
A poor twenty-five and eighteen—a mere fleabite for W. W.
Still, he's our glory; and if you can spot such another, I'll trouble you.
Grace? Why, of course, in his day he was cock of the walk—that's a moral.
I won't say a word against him; but our Walter!—well, there, we won't quarrel.
I'm Surrey, you know, as I said. I remember Jupp, Humphry, and Stevenson,
Burly Ben Griffith, and Southerton! Well, if it ever was evens on
Match, it was surely on this one. Oh, yes, I gave points, six to five, Sir,
But then I have always backed Surrey, and will do so whilst I'm alive, Sir.
And t'other was Notts, don't you see, so I couldn't well show the white feather.
Ah! well, 'twas a wonderful match; such a crowd, such a game, and such weather!
K. J. K. (that's Mr. Key) showed remarkably promising cricket—
I did feel a little bit quisby when Sherwin snapped him at the wicket.
