Idle loungers at Golf, attend to my Song; 'Tis MIDDLEMAN's sentence. - 'Tis right and 'tis wrong; For our Union with Ireland has brought us some Bulls, To clear our ideas, and thicken our skulls, Derry down, down, down derry down. Our ancestors sweated by golfing and drinking, But now the Sophs teach us to sweat by deep thinking, And tell us, it must be the best of all play, To sit on our bottoms, and hear what they say. Derry down, down, down derry down. Blue devils, diseases, dull sorrow, and care, Were knock'd down by our balls, as they whiz'd through the air, But now we must forfeit the joys of the Green, To partake of the joys of the Gout and the Spleen. Derry down, down, down derry down. But, with all his grave knowledge, MIDDLEMAN may go wrong, And his deep Metaphysics sell for an old song; For he ne'er made a speech more absurd in his life. He says Golfing is lounging, - We appeal to his Wife. Derry down, down, down derry down. His wife is a Mother, and surely will say, That at the short strokes, the stiff shaft is the play; A friend to good golfing, she'll wish, honest soul, Success to the Putter, the Baas, and the Hole. Derry down, down, down derry down.
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