And his face has a look that is weary and sad,
As he hastily turns to the ladies, who love him,
But the racket falls from him, he totters, and swirls,
As he hears them cry, "Golf is the game for the girls!"
The girls crave for freedom, they cannot endure
To be cramped up at Tennis in courts that are poky,
And they're all of them certainly, perfectly sure
That they'll never again touch "that horrible Croquet,"
Where it's quite on the cards that they play with Papa,