My heart is like a driver-club,

That heaves the pellet hard and straight,

That carries every let and rub,

The whole performance really great;

My heart is like a bulger-head,

That whiffles on the wily tee,

Because my love has kindly said

She’ll halve the round of life with me.

My heart is also like a cleek,

Resembling most the mashie sort,

That spanks the object, so to speak,

Across the sandy bar to port;

And hers is like a putting-green,

The haven where I boast to be,

For she assures me she is keen

To halve the round of life with me.

70

Raise me a bunker, if you can,

That beetles o’er a deadly ditch,

Where any but the bogey-man

Is practically bound to pitch;

Plant me beneath a hedge of thorn,

Or up a figurative tree,

What matter, when my love has sworn

To halve the round of life with me?