When Golf was in its childhood still,
And not the sport that now it is;
When no-one knew of Bunker Hill,
Or spoke of Boston tee-parties;
One man there was who played the game,
And Ananias was his name.
But little else of him we know,
Save that his grasp of facts was slack,
And yet, as circumstances show,
He was a golfomaniac,
And thus biographers relate
The story of his tragic fate:—
He occupied his final scene,
( In golfing parlance so‘ tis said ),
In “practising upon the green,”
And, after a “bad lie,” “lay dead;”
Then came Sapphira,— she, poor soul,
After a worse “lie,” “halved the hole.”