Green Bays | Page 7

song of Simple Enumeration.
CALIBAN UPON RUDIMENTS[1].
OR AUTOSCHEDIASTIC THEOLOGY IN A HOLE.
Rudiments, Rudiments, and Rudiments!?'Thinketh one made them i' the fit o' the blues.
'Thinketh one made them with the 'tips' to match,?But not the answers; 'doubteth there be none,?Only Guides, Helps, Analyses, such as that:?Also this Beast, that groweth sleek thereon,?And snow-white bands that round the neck o' the same.
'Thinketh, it came of being ill at ease.?'Hath heard that Satan finds some mischief still?For idle hands, and the rest o 't. That's the case.?Also 'hath heard they pop the names i' the hat,?Toss out a brace, a dozen stick inside;?Let forty through and plough the sorry rest.
'Thinketh, such shows nor right nor wrong in them,?Only their strength, being made o' sloth i' the main-- 'Am strong myself compared to yonder names?O' Jewish towns i' the paper. Watch th' event--?'Let twenty pass, 'have a shot at twenty-first,?'Miss Ramoth-Gilead, 'take Jehoiakim,?'Let Abner by and spot Melchizedek,?Knowing not, caring not, just choosing so,?As it likes me each time, I do: so they.
'Saith they be terrible: watch their feats i' the Viva! One question plays the deuce with six months' toil.?Aha, if they would tell me! No, not they!?There is the sport: 'come read me right or die!'?All at their mercy,--why they like it most?When--when--well, never try the same shot twice!?'Hath fled himself and only got up a tree.
'Will say a plain word if he gets a plough.
[1] Caliban museth of the now extinct Examination in the Rudiments of Faith and Religion.
SOLVITUR ACRIS HIEMPS.
My Juggins, see: the pasture green,
Obeying Nature's kindly law,?Renews its mantle; there has been
A thaw.
The frost-bound earth is free at last,
That lay 'neath Winter's sullen yoke?'Till people felt it getting past
A joke.
Now forth again the Freshers fare,
And get them tasty summer suits?Wherein they flaunt afield and scare
The brutes.
Again the stream suspects the keel;
Again the shrieking captain drops?Upon his crew; again the meal
Of chops
Divides the too-laborious day;
Again the Student sighs o'er Mods,?And prompts his enemies to lay
Long odds.
Again the shopman spreads his wiles;
Again the organ-pipes, unbound,?Distract the populace for miles
Around.
Then, Juggins, ere December's touch
Once more the wealth of Spring reclaim,?Since each successive year is much
The same;
Since too the monarch on his throne
In purple lapped and frankincense,?Who from his infancy has blown
Expense,
No less than he who barely gets
The boon of out-of-door relief,?Must see desuetude,--come let's
Be brief.
At those resolves last New Year's Day
The easy gods indulgent wink.?Then downward, ho!--the shortest way
Is drink.
A LETTER.
Addressed during the Summer Term of 1888 by Mr. Algernon Dexter, Scholar of ------ College, Oxford, to his cousin, Miss Kitty Tremayne, at ------ Vicarage, Devonshire.
After W. M. P.
Dear Kitty,
At length the term's ending;?I 'm in for my Schools in a week;?And the time that at present I'm spending
On you should be spent upon Greek:?But I'm fairly well read in my Plato,
I'm thoroughly red in the eyes,?And I've almost forgotten the way to
Be healthy and wealthy and wise.?So 'the best of all ways'--why repeat you
The verse at 2.30 a.m.,?When I 'm stealing an hour to entreat you
Dear Kitty, to come to Commem.?
Oh, come! You shall rustle in satin
Through halls where Examiners trod:?Your laughter shall triumph o'er Latin
In lecture-room, garden, and quad.?They stand in the silent Sheldonian--
Our orators, waiting--for you,?Their style guaranteed Ciceronian,
Their subject--'the Ladies in Blue.'?The Vice sits arrayed in his scarlet;
He's pale, but they say he dissem-?-bles by calling his Beadle a 'varlet'
Whenever he thinks of Commem.
There are dances, flirtations at Nuneham,
Flower-shows, the procession of Eights:?There's a list stretching usque ad Lunam
Of concerts, and lunches, and fetes:?There's the Newdigate all about 'Gordon,'
--So sweet, and they say it will scan.?You shall flirt with a Proctor, a Warden
Shall run for your shawl and your fan.?They are sportive as gods broken loose from
Olympus, and yet very em-?-inent men. There are plenty to choose from,
You'll find, if you come to Commem.
I know your excuses: Red Sorrel
Has stumbled and broken her knees;?Aunt Phoebe thinks waltzing immoral;
And 'Algy, you are such a tease;?It's nonsense, of course, but she is strict';
And little Dick Hodge has the croup;?And there's no one to visit your 'district'
Or make Mother Tettleby's soup.?Let them cease for a se'nnight to plague you;
Oh, leave them to manage pro tem.?With their croups and their soups and their ague)
Dear Kitty, and come to Commem.
Don't tell me Papa has lumbago,
That you haven't a frock fit to wear,?That the curate 'has notions, and may go
To lengths if there's nobody there,'?That the Squire has 'said things' to the Vicar,
And the Vicar 'had words' with the Squire,?That the Organist's taken to liquor,
And leaves you to manage the choir:?For Papa must be cured, and the curate
Coerced, and your gown is a gem;?And the moral is--Don't be obdurate,
Dear Kitty, but come to Commem.
'My gown? Though, no doubt, sir, you're clever,
You 'd better leave fashions alone.?Do you think that a frock lasts for ever?'
Dear Kitty, I'll grant you have grown;?But I thought of my 'scene'