When Blair puts me Longstop without any pads,
And delivers occasional Wides,
My thumb is askew, and my bosom is blue,
And bruises be-smother my sides!
I cannot rejoice when a bail comes express
Saluting my pate with a punch;
Obesity quivers, there's wringing of withers,
But trust me to sparkle at lunch!—
I radiate freely at lunch.
The National Game is a tonic, I know,