Should he e'er be inclined his Tutors and Deans to look with contempt upon (Observing the maxims of Raleigh and Drake, who never thought much of a Don), Let him think there are things in the nautical line that even a Don can do, For only too well are examiners versed in the way to plough the Blue! Though a Captain _per se_ is an excellent thing for repelling his country's foes, He is better by far, as an engine of war, with a knowledge of Logic and Prose: And a bold A.B. is the nation's pride, in his rude uncultured way, But prouder still will the nation be when he's also a bold B.A.! CHORUS For the Horse Marine will be Tutor and Dean, in the glorious days to be, With his Yo, heave ho, and his _o e to_, [1] and a Master of Arts degree! [1. Transcriber's note: the character group "o e to" was transliterated from the Greek characters omicron (with the rough-breathing diacritical), eta (with the rough-breathing diacritical), tau, and omicron (with the soft-breathing diacritical).] A DREAM In sleep the errant phantasy, No more by sense imprisoned, Creates what possibly might be But actually isn't: And this my tale is past belief, Of truth and reason emptied, 'Tis fiction manifest--in brief I was asleep, and dreamt it. I met a man by Isis' stream, Whose phrase discreet and prudent, Whose penchant for a learned theme Proclaimed the Serious Student: I never knew a scholar who Could more at ease converse on The latest _Classical Review_ Than that superior person. He spoke of books--all manly sports He deemed but meet for scoffing: He did not know the Racquet Courts-- He'd never heard of golfing-- Professors ne'er were half so wise, Nor Readers more sedate! He was--I learnt with some surprise-- An undergraduate. Another man I met, whose head Was crammed with pastime's annals, And who, to judge from what he said, Must simply live in flannels: A shallow mind his talk proclaimed, And showed of culture no trace: One "book" and one alone he named-- His own--'twas on the Boat-race. "Of course," you cry, "some brainless lad, Some scion of ancient Tories, Bob Acres, sent to Oxford _ad Emolliendos mores_, Meant but to drain the festive glass And win the athlete's pewter!" There you are wrong: this person was That undergraduate's Tutor. * * * * Twas but a dream, I said above, In concrete truth deficient, Belonging to the region of The wholly Unconditioned: Yet, when I see how strange the ways Of undergrad. and Don are, Methinks it was, in classic phrase, Not _upar_ less than _onar_. [1]