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Mr. Punch's Book of Sports
TO FOOTBALL
Farewell to thee, Cricket,
Thy last match is o'er;
Thy bat, ball, and wicket
Are needed no more.
To thy sister we turn,
For her coming we pray:
Her worshippers burn
For the heat of the fray.
Hail! Goddess of battle,
Yet hated of Ma(r)s,
How ceaseless their tattle
Of tumbles and scars!
Such warnings are vain,
For thy rites we prepare,
Youth is yearning again
In thy perils to share.
Broken limbs and black eyes
May, perchance, be our lot;
But grant goals and ties
And we care not a jot.
Too sacred to name
With thy posts, ball, and field,
There is no winter game
To which thou canst yield.
Motto for an Impecunious Football Club.—"More kicks than halfpence."
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