Old chap, of course I'll see you through,
But—drop that rot about the tomb!
Let's overhaul your bag. A pair
Of noble bats to guard a wicket!
Out, Friend, to breathe the sunny air,
And wring the hand of Doctor Cricket!
Be healed; and shun the flabby gang
That tricked your taste with cards and drink,
When out of independence sprang
A silly downfall. Think, Tom, think!