LE SPORT
Reading edition
["The French sportswoman is not ardent, but just now Le Sport is the thing."—Daily Paper.]
Ze leetle bairds zat fly ze air I vish zem not ze 'arms— Zat is not vy ze gun I bear So bravement in mine arms; 'Tis not zat I vould kill—Ah! non! It is zat I adore Ze noble institution Ve call in France Le Sport. And zen ze costume! Ah! ze 'at! Ze gaitares! Vot more sweet For ze young female-chaser zat Do 'ave ze leetle feet? Ze gun?—I fear 'im much, and oh! 'E makes my shouldare sore, But yet I do 'im bear to show 'Ow much I love Le Sport. Ze leetle partridge 'e may lay 'Is pretty leetle eggs, Ze leetle pheasant 'op away Upon 'is leetle legs, Ze leetle 'are zat run si vite I do not vish 'is gore— But vile mine ankles zey are neat I'll cry, "Ah! Vive le Sport!"
Keeper (to beater). "What are you doin' here? Why don't ye go and spread yourself out?"
Beater. "Zo I were spread out, and t'other man 'e told I, I were too wide!"
Master Bob. "I say, Adam, that was a pretty bad miss."
Keeper. "'Twasn't even that, Master Bob. 'Twas firing in a totally wrong direction."
"Beg pardon, sir! But if you was to aim at his lordship the next time, I think he'd feel more comforbler, sir!"