For men must spurt, and never say die, And when their strength fails, on their pluck must rely, While the lasher at Iffley is moaning. The races are past, and the bumps are made, The crew have been cheered, and the supper is won, The pipes and the baccy are quickly renewed, “The Eight” is deserted――the puntings begun. For men must rest, and races must cease, But Isis’ fair stream can ne’er be at peace While the lasher at Iffley keeps moaning. H. F. B. _College Rhymes_, 1861. W. Mansell, Oxford. ―――― HOW THREE FISHERS WENT SALERING. Three mothers sat talking who lived at the west, The west end――as that eldest son went down, Each thought him the husband that she liked the best, For the girl who had watched him all over the town, For men must pay or women weep And their dress is expensive, and many to keep, And their mothers are always wo-o-ning. Three gentlemen lounged at the club-house door, And they thought of those girls as the funds went down; They thought of their bankers and thought them a bore, And of bills that came rolling in “ragged and brown.” But men must pay or women will weep―― Though debts be pressing――still mothers are deep, And keep up a constant wo-o-ning. Three gentlemen lay in three separate cells―― The last season’s “necessities” pulled them down―― And the women are weeping and ringing their bells, For those who will never more show upon town, For men must pay or women will weep, And the sooner you do it the sooner you’ll sleep And good-bye to the ma, and her wo-o-nings. _Punch_, August 24, 1861. ―――― THE THREE FRESHMEN. Three freshmen went loafing out into the High, Out into the High, as the sun went down; Each thought on his waistcoat and gorgeous tie; And the nursemaids stood watching them all the way down. For men won’t work, and their mothers must weep, For nothing they earn, and their ticks run deep, Though the College Dons be moaning. Three townsmen met them near Magdalen Tower; And the freshmen came up, and the sun went down; And a battle ensued for the space of an hour, And a bull-dog came running up, breathless and blown. For when Townsmen meet gownsmen there’s always a riot, And bull-dogs come sudden, some mischief to spy out, While the College Dons are moaning.