What was it made me cricket snub,

And force my seven sons to sub-

sidize a local "Rugby" Club?

That Foot-ball!

Yet, what first drew from me a sigh,

When Tom, my eldest, missed a "try,"

But got instead a broken thigh?

That Foot-ball!

What in my second, stalwart Jack,

Caused some inside machine to crack,

And kept him ten months on his back—?

That Foot-ball!

What brought my third, unhappy Ted,

To fade and sink, and keep his bed,

And finally go off his head?—

That Foot-ball!

My fourth and fifth, poor John and Jim,

What made the sight of one so dim?

What made the other lack a limb?

That Foot-ball!

Then Frank, my sixth, who cannot touch

The ground unaided by a crutch,

Alas! of what had he too much?

That Foot-ball!

The seventh ends the mournful line,

Poor Stephen with his fractured spine,

A debt owe these good sons of mine,

That Foot-ball!

And as we pass the street-boys cry,

"Look at them cripples!" I but sigh,

"You're right, my friends. But would you fly

A lot like ours; oh, do not try

That Foot-ball!"