He holds them with his bull-dogs twain, The Undergrads stand still; Wild words are halting on their lips, The Proctor hath his will. “The Corn Market is all astir, We gownsmen won’t stop in; The town is met, the fight is set; Hear’st thou the merry din?” The Proctor steps a pace aside, Red as a turkey he; Wagging their heads they back him up, His mongrel companie. Those Undergrads they turn to fly, But never flight is there; The Proctor tries to tear his locks, The few he hath to tear. “Back to your College, gentlemen! ’Tis sad as sad can be, These heads to break, this row to make, In the nineteenth centurie!” Alack! alack! the fight begins, Ah! whom may Proctor trust, With mighty whack his haughty back Is levelled with the dust; Though slightly blown, in solemn tone Those Undergrads he cussed. With aching head, next morn from bed Those wretched wights uprist; At nine o’clock that evil flock To Proctor’s verdict list. “’Twas wrong,” said he, “to laugh at me, And wrong to strike with fist! Your pleasant homes, your parents all, To-morrow you must see; And never a don take pity on Your awful agonie!” THE RUSTIC. _The Shotover Papers._ November, 1874. J. Vincent, High Street, Oxford. ―――― THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT PREMIER. _Fragment found in a copy of the New Government Unseaworthy Ships Bill, left in the House of Commons._ It is an Ancient Premier, And he stoppeth One of Three. By thy grey curls and sleepy eyes, Now wherefore stopp’st thou me? “The Session hurries to its close, The innocents they slay; The House is met, and fast they get Through orders of the day.” He holds him with his skinny hand, “There was a Bill,” quoth he; “If that is it suppose we sit,” Responded One of Three. “The end we neared, the Bill we feared Merrily did we drop, To get away at an early day―― We had no minds to stop. “A Bill was here, a Bill was there, Measures were all around! The House it growled, and roared and howled, But time for none we found, Except the Holdings Bill, and that To carry we were bound. “At length to cross and bring us loss The Merchant Shipping came; As if it had had a Christian soul, Men hailed it in God’s name. “It did what never Bill had done With villains to contend, Who for their gain our bravest men To sure destruction send.” “Heav’n shield thee, Ancient Premier, From the fiends that wreak thee ill; Why look’st thou so?” With my soft “No,” I slew the Shipping Bill. II. “And I had done a hellish thing, To work the seamen woe; Thousands of living men through me To certain death would go,