At twenty, we diddles the public; at forty, we diddles our cronies!
"Paul Clifford, Volume 1."
Edward Bulwer-Lytton
There we stood by his grave together, Out in the stiff autumnal weather, Many a mate of splice and leather, After his innings; All on a day of misty yellow Watching in pain a grabbing fellow, Death, who diddles both young and mellow, Pocket his winnings.
"More Cricket Songs"
Norman Gale