In the dull, damp pavilion a popular "Bat"

Sang "Willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!"

And I said "Oh! great slogger, pray what are you at,

Singing 'Willow, wet-willow, wet-willow'?

Is it lowness of average, batsman," I cried;

"Or a bad 'brace of ducks' that has lowered your pride?"

With a low-muttered swear-word or two he replied,

"Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!"

He said "In the mud one can't score, anyhow,

Singing willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!

The people are raising a deuce of a row,

Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!

I've been waiting all day in these flannels—they're damp!—

The spectators impatiently shout, shriek, and stamp,

But a batsman, you see, cannot play with a Gamp,

Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!

"Now I feel just as sure as I am that my name

Isn't willow, wet-willow, wet-willow,

The people will swear that I don't play the game,

Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!

My spirits are low and my scores are not high,

But day after day, we've soaked turf and grey sky,

And I sha'n't have a chance till the wickets get dry.

Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!!!"