FAVRE: Roll right! Roll right! They say, and i'truth the turf lies open there.
Clear turf I see, and the sticks beyond. Were I
But four-and-twenty still, e'en six-and-thirty, there would my legs churn on!
The pump--the tuck--the sprint! Bring up your safeties, if you would
For safety's all I disregard. But I am heavy-legged now,
Sprain-wrack'd and hobbled, by th' impediment of age.
Too old to chance the run, and yet--
Too old? Too old for chance? Nay, chance
Shall be my last companion,
Till turf and Favre change places, and I lie
Below the grass. Roll right!
Now the defenders roll right too
And I reverse myself, the green for purple, end for beginning--
Reverse! What legs dare not, the arm will dare,
What Prudence whispers, Bravery shouts down.
Too old? I shall vex age, reverse the flow,
And throw against the grain. I am decided.
Cares of age, away! I am
The man I ever was: I throw, I throw. I throw! [He throws.]
