’Tis noon, but still resounds the blow,
Though scorching hours may come and go,
Those maidens, fleeter than the roe,
Are ever darting rapidly!
The combat deepens, Grace will win,
In Jersey, fitting like her skin,
Just give the ball a subtle spin,
And snatch from Maud the victory!
A few games more, and Grace has won!
“Ho! Claret Cup! we both are done!”