Breaking a yard, the destined trimmer,
Beating the bat and the eyes grown dimmer,
Shattered the wicket!
Slow to the dark Pavilion wending,
His head on his breast, with Mercy friending,
The batsman walked to his silent ending,
Finished with cricket.
Whether or not that gaunt Professor
Noting his man; that stark Assessor
Of faulty play in the bat's possessor