And the curate the maidens hung round, sir
For the young man was but twenty-five.

'Twas he was to be referee, sir
A job I'd not have for a 'thou'
At the time he was envied by me, sir
But not after what I know now.

The trouble came right at the start, sir
When the Captain tried placing the field
'You're forward,' she said to Miss Dart, sir
Who with angry amazement was filled.

'Who's forward, you hussy?' she spluttered
'I'll knock your false teeth down your throat!'
'Hush ladies,' the poor curate muttered
As both of them pulled at his coat.

'You occupy forward position
Is what Miss mackay means to say
So please take up that position
And then I will whistle for play.'

Then the Captain turned round to another
'You're right inside, please Mary Baynes.'
'Why of course she is' shouted her mother
'Did you think the poor creature had pains.'
  Then Miss Baynes, with her hair like a creeper
Of sarcasm bitter used lots
Saying - 'Fancy you being goal-keeper
Why you're more used to powder than shots.'

'When I looked at Miss Robinson's dress, sir
My modesty murmured - Alack'
For there wasn't much dress, I confess, sir
And that's why they put her half-back.

Miss Cuddles first got at the ball, sir
And meant to propel it sky-high
And I'm sure 'twasn't her fault, sir
That she banged it in Nellie Smith's eye.

Poor Nellie retired for repairs, sir
After calling the curate a pig
But in store were more worries and cares, sir
For poor Mrs Jones lost her wig.

Her hair we had always admired, sir
And to think we'd been 'had' - oh 'twas gall
But Miss Blobbs, with excitement quite fired, sir
Scored a goal with that wig for the ball.

'A corner,' screamed long Sarah Flounder
To plump little Molly Magee
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