The rain is plentious but, by God's decree, Only a third is meant for you and me; Two-thirds are taken by the growing things Or vanish Heavenward on vapour's wings: Nor does it mathematically fall With social equity on one and all. The population's habit is to grow In every region where the water's low: Nature is blamed for failings that are Man's, And well-run rivers have to change their plans.
My ball is in a bunch of fern, A jolly place to be; An angry man is close astern- He waves his club at me. Well, let him wave-the sky is blue; Go on, old ball, we are but two-We may be down in three, Or nine-or ten-or twenty-five-It matters not; to be alive, Is good enough for me.
There is no reason why a joke should not be appreciated more than once. Imagine how little good music there would be if, for example, a conductor refused to play Beethoven's Fifth Symphony on the ground that his audience might have heard it before.
Men who would face torture without a word become blasphemous at the short fourteenth. It is clear that the game of golf may well be included in that category of intolerable provocations which may legally excuse or mitigate behaviour not otherwise excusable.