Not dashing O'Brien could lick the old Lion
Of Cambridge, whose fire is still plainly surviving.
The pet of the Million, you've cleared the pavilion,
And spanked the ball many times "over the paling,"
Here's health to you "Buns!" may you score lots of runs,
And oft stir the crowd with your spirit unfailing.
How often I'd watch when they "bowled for a catch,"
And you gave 'em one, truly, but in the next parish!
You'd run up your hundred, while "all the world wondered,"
In less than an hour, Sir, a pace wear-and-tearish.