The First Hole
Schol. Well, Master, here am I upon the tee. How shall I strike the ball?
Golf. As you will. For this first stroke I would have you assail the ball in any fashion that may please you; for it will be a great time hence when you please yourself again, before which day you shall be slave to this dogma and that, and a great grief to your friends.
Schol. Shall I stand in this fashion?
Golf. Nay, bestride not the ball like the colossus which was at Rhodes, for in such stiff and ungraceful posture you cannot put hip and shoulder into the blow. There be many strange golfers that spread themselves in this fashion, and play with elbows, to the great detriment of the landscape, so that when I walk over the links I could wish for blinders, that horses wear. Let your feet be more neighborly, so, and have at it.
Schol. The ball is gone, yet I saw it not.
Golf. Well hit, Scholar; as true a ball as ever left wood, and as far as the most.
Schol. Why, sir, it was nought. I did but swing the club, and felt not the blow.
Golf. A brave shot, Scholar, which you shall have sweet remembrance of these many months to come. Marry, sir, if you take my advice you will rest content, and sell these tools of wood and iron, to your great peace of mind and the continued esteem of such friends as now you have.
Schol. Sir, I take not your meaning. Let us to the ball, that I may strike it again, for my impatience is not to be described.
Golf. Come, then; for compared with the task of staying you, it were a profitable employ to discourse to the deaf, or to show pictures to the blind. A sparrow, new come from the southland, sings for a mate in yonder maple tree, yet I warrant you hear him not. There are patches of springing green in the brown carpet of the links, yet this pleasing tapestry serves but as background for your ball. Here it lies, well up. Take now this other club of wood, the which is shod with brass, and whilst you fall upon the ball I do desire to look another way.
Schol. Saw you the ball, Master?
Golf. Nay, I did avert mine eyes the while you smote it; but this scarred turf will bear witness to the stroke. You are to observe that the ball was pulled and foundered, and will be close at hand, methinks in yonder copse. Let us to it.
Schol. What must I do, now, with the ball?
Golf. Cast it upon the turf and make further trial. And do you clap an eye on the ball the while you strike it, or fix your gaze on yonder flag; either, as it please you, so long as your head be at rest. Sir, I shall ever marvel why a golfer must cock his head up at every stroke, like a robin questing worms, for since the greater number of players top the ball, or fling it in any direction save the right one, you would conceive they would avoid to look up as long as might be, that they be spared sight of their woeful want of skill. Marry, sir, if I played as the majority I would close mine eyes with each stroke, and ask to be led as a blind man to the ball.
Schol. Sir, I will endeavor to abide by your counsel, and I pray you attend me. Now, sir!... Maledictions! Another ill stroke, yet I looked upon the ball.
Golf. Nay, my good Scholar, your head did come up with the jerk of the hanged ere the ball was struck. So little of concentration hath the average man that he cannot bring his mind to a focus for a few seconds; wherefore he avoids to read a serious book, or to attend a serious play, or to give ear to music which is other than a tinkle. I shall give you counsel in plenty, and to some small part of it you will give attention, and thus you may curtail your apprenticeship a year; but the larger part of what I shall tell you will be wasted on these sparrows that flit about us, and for a great while you will go from bad to worse, as the saying is, pursuing this notion and another, and reading many books upon the matter, the which are writ by players that preach the one thing and practise the other, until there remain no fresh folly that you may commit. Truly, I would not pass through the travail which is before you for a great sum of money.
Schol. Sir, it is but a dismal prospect that you offer, yet am I resolved at all pains to learn this noble game; therefore I beg you to unlock the storehouse of your knowledge and set me in the right path.
Golf. That I will do, and gladly. But do you step aside a moment, for hither come two golfers that would play this hole.... Good morning, sirs. A fine, sweet day, is it not?
First Player. Sir, I should have made that last hole in five, but that a worm-cast marred my putt.
Golf. A grievous accident, and all too common. Will you play by us?
First Player. With pleasure, sir. Yesterday I did make this hole in four, and Saturday a week I was so fortunate as to get a three.
Golf. Say, rather, so skillful; and, sir, I am enraptured to learn of your cunning and would desire a much longer tale of it. Good morning, gentlemen.... And there, my honest Scholar, you may perceive yourself in the sorrowful days that are to come, a burden and a grief to your friends, to whom you must relate the ill luck that robbed you of a four at this hole, and the conspiracies of nature that prevented a five at that; for it is ever want of luck and not want of skill that addeth strokes to a score, and many a summer’s day that promised fair has been marred by a cuppy lie or ruined utterly by a worm-cast. Marry, sir, I had as lief listen to a play actor recounting his greatness as to a man besotted by this game of golf.
Schol. Shall I make further trial with this club?
Golf. Nay, sir, you have done enough mischief with that tool. Put it in the sack and let us to a putting-green; for whoso would walk must begin by creeping, and much may be made of a golfer that is caught young.