Full Online Books
BOOK CATEGORIES
Authors Authors Short Stories Short Stories Long Stories Long Stories Funny Stories Funny Stories Love Stories Love Stories Stories For Kids Stories For Kids Poems Poems Essays Essays Nonfictions Nonfictions Plays Plays Folktales Folktales Fairy Tales Fairy Tales Fables Fables Learning Kitchen Learning Kitchen
LINKS
Valid XHTML 1.0 Transitional Free Classified Website Without Registration Free Classified Website Daniel Company
Twitter Twitter Add book
donate
Full Online Book HomePoemsA Wigging
Famous Authors (View All Authors)
A Wigging Post by :Cyndall Category :Poems Author :Norman Gale Date :October 2011 Read :3330

Click below to download : A Wigging (Format : PDF)

A Wigging

"To throw your hands above your head
And wring your mouth in piteous wise
Is not a plan," the Captain said,
"With which I sympathise.
And with your eyes to ape a duck
That's dying in a thunderstorm,
Because you deprecate your luck,
Is not the best of form.

"The fact is, Johnson, I am tired
Of all this posing for a faint,
Because you think the stump required
Another coat of paint.
As greatly would you vex my soul,
And drag decorum from the Game,
If in the block your head you'd roll,
Or stand upon the same.

"This trick of striking attitudes,
Inelegant for men to see,
Will, to be candid, foster feuds
Between yourself and me.
On manners of the best this sport,
By right of glory, makes a call,
And he who will not as he ought
Should never play at all.

"Now Luck is lean, now Luck Is fat,
And wise men take her as she comes:
The Bowler may be sure the Bat
Will share the sugarplums.
So never wriggle, nor protest,
Nor eye the zenith in disgust,
But, Johnson, bowl your level best,
And recollect, what must be, must!"


(The end)
Norman Gale's poem: Wigging

If you like this book please share to your friends :
NEXT BOOKS

The Two Kings The Two Kings

The Two Kings
(Written for W.G. Grace's Fiftieth Anniversary.) When Arthur and his Table Round Thought lusty thumps the best of sport, Sir, And cups and cuffs, for all but muffs, Were just the code the nobles taught, Sir, Their jests were coarse, and swift their coursers, Their throats were hoarse and strong as hawsers; And they would shout a loud refrain The while they pricked across a plain, Observe this phrase just once again-- The while they pricked across a plain. Then 'twas the sport of Arthur's Court To hammer friendly
PREVIOUS BOOKS

The Tutor's Lament The Tutor's Lament

The Tutor's Lament
I refuse to find attractions In the ancient Roman native; I am sick to death of fractions, And of verbs that take the dative: It is mine to be recorder Of a boy's congested brain, Sir, With the pitch in perfect order And the weather like champagne, Sir! I--the sport of conjugations-- I am cooped up as a lodger Where I serve out mental rations To a proudly backward dodger. While the two of us are dreaming
NEXT 10 BOOKS | PREVIOUS 10 BOOKS | RANDOM 10 BOOKS
LEAVE A COMMENT