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Andrew Lang - Ballade Of The Royal Game Of Golf
Work rating: Low

There are laddies will drive ye a ba`
To the burn frae the farthermost tee,
But ye mauna think driving is a`,
Ye may heel her, and send her ajee,
Ye may land in the sand or the sea;
And ye`re dune, sir, ye`re no worth a preen,
Tak` the word that an auld man`ll gie,
Tak` aye tent to be up on the green!

The auld folk are crouse, and they craw
That their putting is pawky and slee;
In a bunker they`re nae gude ava`,
But to girn, and to gar the sand flee.
And a lassie can putt--ony she, -
Be she Maggy, or Bessie, or Jean,
But a cleek-shot`s the billy for me,
Tak` aye tent to be up on the green!

I hae play`d in the frost and the thaw,
I hae play`d since the year thirty-three,
I hae play`d in the rain and the snaw,
And I trust I may play till I dee;
And I tell ye the truth and nae lee,
For I speak o` the thing I hae seen -
Tom Morris, I ken, will agree -
Tak` aye tent to be up on the green!

ENVOY.

Prince, faith you`re improving a wee,
And, Lord, man, they tell me you`re keen;
Tak` the best o` advice that can be,
Tak` aye tent to be up on the green!
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