O rural diversions, too long has the chace,
All the honours usurp'd, and assum'd the chief place;
But truth bids the Muse from henceforward proclaim,
That Gowf, first of sports, shall stand foremost in fame.

At Gowf we contend, without rancour or spleen,
And bloodless the laurels we reap on the green;
From vig'rous exertion our pleasures arise,
And to crown our delights no poor fugitive dies.

O'er the heath see our heroes in uniform clad,
In parties well match'd, how they gracefully spread;
While with long strokes and short strokes they tend to the goal,
And with put well-directed plump into the hole.

From exercise strong, from strength active and bold,
We'll traverse the green, and forget to grow old.
Blue devils, diseases, dull sorrow and care,
Knock'd down by our balls as they whizz thro' the air.

Health, happiness, harmony, friendship, and fame,
Are the fruits and rewards of our favourite game;
A sport so distinguish'd, the fair must approve,
Then to Gowf give the day, and the evening to love.