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Now list’n to me ye students,
Now hearken young and old,
The while I tell a story,
That should be writ in gold,
How your own doughty champions,
With valiant hearts and true,
In answer to a challenge sent,
Away to Patiala went,
And won great fame for you,
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T’is ten on Monday morning
The teams are gathered there,
From East from West from North from South
A band of playerz rare,
For there is the bold Brockwell
The pride of Surrey’t side,
And Hearne of mighty bowling fame,
And many an-other glorious name,
Of players true and tried.
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Now stepped forth Ali Hasan,
Our Captain brave is he,
And as Hearne tossed the glittering coin.
“Tis, “Heads” he cried, Ah see.
“Tis “Heads” for fickle fortune,
Doth smile upon our side.
The wickets now we must defend,
While bowlers swift from either end,
Attempt to lower our pride.
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But Brockwell bowls out “Chacha”
Trying his favourite glide,
And Ali Hasan now steps forth,
With bold and manly stride,
And he and Abid smite them,
All round about the field,
And ninety goes up on the board,
Ere Hearne makes Abid yield.
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And he and Ali Hasan,
Have put on many a run,
Ere Ali Hasan lifts a ball,
On high towards the sun,
It was a high and mighty hit,
But Billimoria stands.
And waits in the long field for it,
With sure and skilful hands.
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Alas for Ali Hasan then,
By fate we all are bound,
Ask Qadir how it is a ball,
May rise above the heads of all,
Yet never reach the ground.
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But Ali Hasan’s breaking balls,
Are difficult to play,
And Abdul Mughni seems to find,
This his own special day,
And Mistry’s wickets soon lie low.
Ah’, woe unto his side,
Badesi Ram finds fate as stern,
And Said finely catches Hearne,
Of Middlesex the pride.
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And Manzoor who once was of us,
And kept the wicket well,
Kunwar Sahib and Maharaja,
There is no more to tell,
For fifty one they all are out,
A mighty fall was there,
So few the runs, so short the live
Of all these batsmen rare.
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But Shafqat is undaunted,
And Ali Hasan tries,
Another dodge till on the grass,
See, their last wicket lies,
And we to win this glorious match,
Have forty eight to make.
So Abid once more and Said,
The wicket now do take.
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Through Abid is unlucky,
Said with courage high,
Till twenty four is now the score,
The blowers doth defy,
And Ali Hasan cometh now,
To Abdul Mughni’s aid,
Great need is now of watchful eye,
Of valour that will do or die,
Till those few runs are made.
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Then praise be to those heroes,
Praise to them one and all,
Who valiantly have waged the strife,
The strife of bat and ball,
Right well they fought the great battle,
Against a gallant foe,
We fought and won, they fought and lost,
And though defeat a pang must cost,
Their hearts no rancor know
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And when the lamps are lit,
And Proctor makes his round,
In Zahur Ward and Denton Court,
Still eager groups are found,
Who fight that battle, once again,
And name those heroes bold,
Who won that great and glorious game,
And earned themselves undying fame,
In the brave days of old
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