It seemed: but, nay! 'twas brimstone fire instead,
For what he said, in type is not displayed
Except on fire-proof paper, I'm afraid.
Four! Five! Six! But still far from the goal!
The Player loses all his self-control
And breaks the "goose" in twain: then hark the din,
When Caddie trails the ball and kicks it in!
Far from the scene of strife the Club House becks
The weary Golfers on their inward treks;
And close beside, beneath the porch's shade,