GOLFATOR. Well met, Scholar. Much water has passed the miller’s wheel
since last we were in company; and, marry, much has fallen on these fair
acres, which too oft at this season are sere and brown; and thus we have
compensation for the cool winds and drenching rains of this so backward
summer. Saw you ever so green a sward, and grasses so void of dust? Yet
mark you the chatter of yon robin, that never gets his fill of rain, so
that methinks some far ancestor of his was a water fowl, or perchance
a flower that grew in water, since to my fancy birds are but flowers
that have taken wings. But peradventure you had rather I question you
concerning your towardness in the game of golf, as I mark you have your
tools by you, and I may hazard that you have prospered exceedingly.
SCHOLAR. Why, good Master, to speak truth, this ingenious game has so
bedeviled me that I mark not if the grass be brown or green, or if robin
or blackbird chatter by my path. As for my towardness, I have practised
with great diligence, and have been directed by this teacher and that,
and all excellently well, yet do I find myself at a stand, and unable to
advance beyond a moderate skill.
GOLF. I pray you, Scholar, make trial with your club of wood, that I may
observe in what fashion you handle it.
SCHOL. There, Master! Is that not well swung? And that? And that?
GOLF. Marry, an excellent swing, save that it lacks freedom and rhythm,
and has no power in it, otherwise a most worthy swing, that might be of
great service in knocking apples from a tree. One may observe with half
an eye, Scholar, that you have been well instructed in every detail save
one, the which concerns the striking of the ball.