We present this work in honor of the poet’s 150th birthday.

 

‘I charge thee, fling away Ambition.’ Thus
The puling Cardinal at Fortune’s end,
To Cromwell, daring still to be his friend,
Gave counsel futile. Nay, calamitous,
If men unwisely heeded. Dolorous
And flat this life of ours, could we not bend
Our energies with honour, and contend
For pride of place with those ahead of us.

Had Hobbs in mid career cried, ‘Hold enough;
The Doctor’s record cannot be o’erpassed,’
‘Ambition should be made of sterner stuff,’
Had well been said. Stand cricketers aghast
At this new record? Fie, I cry you, Shame!
Come, take your centre, bid for greater fame!