You fail to catch the trencher spun
And, later, when the game is done,
The lady who collects the fees
Demands a forfeit, if you please.
You find a penny, grimed and black,
And hope that you may get it back.
You sit in speechless misery,
And wonder what your fate will be,
Until, within that giggling ring,
You have to claim the wretched thing;
Then sally forth upon your quest,
To kiss the one you love the best.
You don’t appreciate the fun,
But curb a wild desire to run;
Then seek a matron staid and stout,
And drag the willing victim out;
Because, of course, it wouldn’t do
To kiss the girl you wanted to.