And as they came over the Muddleby hill,
The cheer that resounded I think I hear still;
And of all the gay caps that flew into the air,
The top cap of all told Nat Ricket was there.
They tossed up, and, winning
The choice of the inning,
The Blunderby boys took the batting in hand,
And went to the wicket,
While nimble Nat Ricket
Put his _men_ in the field for a resolute stand;
And as each sturdy scout took his usual spot,
Our Nat roamed about and looked after the lot;
And as they stood there, when the umpire called "Play,"
'Twas a sight to remember for many a day,
Nat started the bowling (and take my word, misters,
There's no bowling like it for underhand twisters);
And what with the pace and the screw and the aim,
It was pretty hard _work_, was that Blunderby _game_;
With Nat in the field to look after the ball,
'Twas a terrible struggle to get runs at all;
Though they hit out their hardest a regular stunner,
'Twas rare that it reckoned for more than a oner;
'Twas seldom indeed that they troubled the scorer
To put down a twoer, a threer, or fourer;
And as for a lost ball, a fiver, or sixer,
The Blunderby boys were not up to the trick, sir;
Still they struggled full well, and at sixty the score
The last wicket fell, and the innings was o'er.
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