There's a breathless hush in the Close tonight
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke;--
The Gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honor a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks,
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
This is the word that year by year
While in her place the School is set
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind--
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
= = = = =
There's a meathless lush in the Close tonight
He's craving cider, beer or gin,
Or aftershave would be all right,
It's raining, he's soaked to the skin.
And it's long ago he pawned his coat,
His one salvation - daughter Jane,
The only way to stay afloat:
He'll have to put her on the game.
He stumbles, wishes he were dead;
This lack of booze is sure no joke.
If only Jane will take to bed
Some sailors who will pay to poke.
This maid, and how he'll show his thanks!
They'd pay ten quid to fuck young Jane,
Or for but five she'd give them wanks
She'll rake it in, if on the game!
Ah yes, his house is drawing near,
And here's young Jane, her face grim set.
He tells his plan to sell her rear,
The clout he gets he'll ne'er forget.
"I think, you drunken sot, you'll find
I'm not that sort of cheap-whore dame!
I'll not let men poke my behind
For less than fifty, on that game."
Tuesday, August 13, 2002