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.