My Heart Is Like A Driver-Club, That Heaves The Pellet Hard And Straight, That Carries Every Let And Rub, The Whole Performance Really Great; My Heart Is Like A Bulger-Head, That Whiffles On The Wily Tee, Because My Love Has Kindly Said She'll Halve The Round Of Life With Me. My Heart Is Also Like A Cleek, Resembling Most The Mashie Sort, That Spanks The Object, So To Speak, Across The Sandy Bar To Port; And Hers Is Like A Putting-Green, The Haven Where I Boast To Be, For She Assures Me She Is Keen To Halve The Round Of Life With Me. Raise Me A Bunker, If You Can, That Beetles O'Er A Deadly Ditch, Where Any But The Bogey-Man Is Practically Bound To Pitch; Plant Me Beneath A Hedge Of Thorn, Or Up A Figurative Tree, What Matter, When My Love Has Sworn To Halve The Round Of Life With Me?