No stranger in the crowd could doubt t'was Casey at the bat.
And now the leather covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there;
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped.
"That ain't my style," said Casey "Strike one," the umpire said.
* * * * *
"Kill him! Kill the umpire;" shouted someone on the stand,
And it's likely they'd have killed him, had not Casey raised his hand.
* * * * *
He signalled to the pitcher and once more the spheroid flew,
But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, "Strike two."
The sneer is gone from Casey's lips, his teeth are clenched in hate,
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
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