There are laddies will drive ye a ba' <br />To the burn frae the farthermost tee, <br />But ye mauna think driving is a', <br />Ye may heel her, and send her ajee, <br />Ye may land in the sand or the sea; <br />And ye're dune, sir, ye're no worth a preen, <br />Tak' the word that an auld man'll gie, <br />Tak' aye tent to be up on the green! <br /> <br />The auld folk are crouse, and they craw <br />That their putting is pawky and slee; <br />In a bunker they're nae gude ava', <br />But to girn, and to gar the sand flee. <br />And a lassie can putt--ony she, - <br />Be she Maggy, or Bessie, or Jean, <br />But a cleek-shot's the billy for me, <br />Tak' aye tent to be up on the green! <br /> <br />I hae play'd in the frost and the thaw, <br />I hae play'd since the year thirty-three, <br />I hae play'd in the rain and the snaw, <br />And I trust I may play till I dee; <br />And I tell ye the truth and nae lee, <br />For I speak o' the thing I hae seen - <br />Tom Morris, I ken, will agree - <br />Tak' aye tent to be up on the green! <br /> <br />ENVOY. <br /> <br />Prince, faith you're improving a wee, <br />And, Lord, man, they tell me you're keen; <br />Tak' the best o' advice that can be, <br />Tak' aye tent to be up on the green!<br /><br />Andrew Lang<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ballade-of-the-royal-game-of-golf/
