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Robert Fuller Murray (1863-1894)

The City of Golf


              1Would you like to see a city given over,
              2Soul and body, to a tyrannising game?
              3If you would, there's little need to be a rover,
              4For St. Andrews is the abject city's name.

              5It is surely quite superfluous to mention,
              6To a person who has been here half an hour,
              7That Golf is what engrosses the attention
              8Of the people, with an all-absorbing power.

              9Rich and poor alike are smitten with the fever;
            10Their business and religion is to play;
            11And a man is scarcely deemed a true believer,
            12Unless he goes at least a round a day.

            13The city boasts an old and learned college,
            14Where you'd think the leading industry was Greek;
            15Even there the favoured instruments of knowledge
            16Are a driver and a putter and a cleek.

            17All the natives and the residents are patrons
            18Of this royal, ancient, irritating sport;
            19All the old men, all the young men, maids and matrons --
            20The universal populace, in short.

            21In the morning, when the feeble light grows stronger,
            22You may see the players going out in shoals;
            23Ad when night forbids their playing any longer,
            24They tell you how they did the different holes.

            25Golf, golf, golf -- is all the story!
            26In despair my overburdened spirit sinks,
            27Till I wish that every golfer was in glory,
            28And I pray the sea may overflow the links.

            29One slender, struggling ray of consolation
            30Sustains me, very feeble though it be:
            31There are two who still escape infatuation,
            32My friend M'Foozle's one, the other's me.

            33As I write the words, M'Foozle enters blushing,
            34With a brassy and an iron in his hand  ....
            35This blow, so unexpected and so crushing,
            36Is more than I am able to withstand.

            37So now it but remains for me to die, sir.
            38Stay! There is another course I may pursue --
            39And perhaps upon the whole it would be wiser --
            40I will yield to fate and be a golfer too!

Notes

16] cleek: an iron for hitting long distances.

34] brassy: a wood club, less long off the tee than a driver.


Online text copyright © 2009, Ian Lancashire (the Department of English) and the University of Toronto.
Published by the Web Development Group, Information Technology Services, University of Toronto Libraries.

Original text: R. F. Murray, The Scarlet Gown: Being Verses by a St. Andrews Man, 2nd edn., intro. by Andrew Lang (Glasgow: James MacLehose, 1909): 12-13. LE M9837sc Robarts Library
First publication date: 1891
RPO poem editor: Ian Lancashire
RP edition: 2001
Recent editing: 1:2002/10/5

Rhyme: abab


Other poems by Robert Fuller Murray