Play the Game!

Poem by Henry Newbolt.

Scene I.: Tableau of boys playing cricket.

Recitation.

There's a breathless hush in the close to-night
Ten to make and the match to win—
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote.

[Action: The captain steps up to the batsman, puts his hand on his shoulder, and says to him urgently—]

"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"

Scene II.: Tableau. Soldiers in a hard-fought fight retreating—a young officer among them.

Recitation.

The sand of the desert is sodden red—
Red with the wreck of the square that broke;
The gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed its banks,
And England's far and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks.

[Action: The young officer stands forward pointing his sword to the enemy, and the retreating soldiers turn ready to charge with him as he cries—]

"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"

Scene III.: A procession of all kinds of men, old ones at the head, middle-aged in centre, young ones behind—soldiers, sailors, lawyers, workmen, footballers, etc., etc.—Scotch, Irish, English, Colonial—all linked hand in hand.

Recitation.

This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the school is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind.

[Action: The leader flings out a Union Jack, and calls to the rest—]

"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"

[One in the centre then calls back to the juniors: "Play up! Play up! And play the game!" The smallest of the juniors steps forward and cries to the audience—]

"Play up! Play up! And Play the Game!"