She asks me why the wretch is not
Immediately turned off the field.
But if the batsmen force the pace,
From me she quickly takes her cue;
Perceives the fun of stolen run,
The overthrow that makes it two.
And as the ball bombards the fence,
Or rattles on the Scorers' hut,
She claps with me the Drive immense,
And prettily applauds the Cut.