[Illustration]
The dawn of morn, the daylight's sinking,
Shall find me on the Links, and thinking
Of Tee, Tee, only Tee!
When rivals meet upon the ground,
The Putting-green's a realm enchanted,
Nay, in Society's giddy round
My soul, (like Tooting's thralls) is haunted
By Tee, Tee, only Tee!'
For that at early morn I waken,
And swiftly bolt my eggs and bacon,
For Tee, Tee, only Tee!
I'm game to start all in the dark
To the Links hurrying--resting never.
The Caddie yawns, but, like a lark,
I halt not, heed not, hastening ever
To Tee, Tee, only Tee!
Of chilly fog I am no funker,
I'll brave the very biggest bunker
For Tee, Tee, only Tee!
A spell that nought on earth can break
Holds me. Golf's charms can ne'er be _spoken_;
But late I'll sleep, and early wake,
Of loyalty be this my token,
To Tee, Tee, only Tee!
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