As a Freshman he wore sober ties, and gave a Don the wall, But came out, his second year, in short coat and fancy shawl, And treated the authorities with no respect at all. Was seldom seen at lectures, and never dined in Hall―― This fine old Cantab as he was, all in the olden time. So he managed to forget the trifling all he once did know, And by a very narrow shave got through his little-go, And then he took “a coach” with cram what brains he’d left to stow―― Arithmetic to the Rule of Three, and some Algebra, also―― This fine old Cantab as he was, all in the olden time. Thus, loo, larks, liquor, and late hours, made time and money fly, Till when three years brought on the Poll, he was plucked disgracefully, And his disgusted gov’rnor came and paid off, with a sigh, Ticks to a tune which nearly sucked the poor old pump quite dry, For his fine old Cantab of a son, one of the olden time. But times are changed henceforth, we know; for, from eighteen-forty-nine, The sons of Alma Mater must choose a different line; And if you try the Muses round, not a lady of the nine Out of whom he won’t be qualified with ease to take the shine―― Our fine young Cantab that’s to be, all in the future time. For reading and not racing he’ll have to keep his book, He’ll blush at his own pink, and hang his tops upon the hook; And if e’er he use a cue, ’twill be for motion’s laws to look; And for milk punch he’ll drink his toast――and water from the brook―― Our fine young Cantab that’s to be, all in the future time. He’ll put off the old Adam for the new one――Adam Smith; Political Economy will bring private, p’r’aps, therewith: At Ge―― or else The――ology he’ll spend his pluck and pith, Tea and Theorems ousting loo and lush, which will be all a myth To our new Cantab that’s to be, all in the future time. Save for studying the pendulum, he’ll never try a tick; A novel definition he’ll invent for the word “brick;” Not one who braves the Proctor, or bargee can slang or lick, But who digs up Hebrew roots like beans, and knocks off Morals slick―― Such our new Cantab is to be, all in the future time. Old Dons will shake their heads, no doubt, and the good old days deplore, When reading men were voted slow, and lectures all a bore; But still let’s hope that Cambridge will furnish, as of yore, All the wisdom of our ancestors, and perhaps a leetle more, To the fine new Cantab that’s to be, all in the future time! _Punch._ November 25, 1848. ―――― THE FINE RICH JEWISH NOBLEMAN.