“Like Cheesy Pouch of Shon-ap-Shenkin, His Sandy locks, with wide Hiatus, Like Bristles seem’d Erected at us, Clotted with Sweat, the Ends hung down; And made Resplendent Cape of Gown; Whose Cape was thin, and so Transparent, Hold it t’ th’ Light, you’d scarce beware on’t ’Twixt Chin and Breast contiguous Band, Hung in an Obtuse Angle and-- It had a Latitude Canonick, His coat so greasy was and torn, That had you seen it you’d ha’ sworn ’Twas Ten Years old when he was born. His buttons fringed as is the Fashion, In Gallick and Brittanick Nation; Or, to speak like more Modern fellows, Their moulds dropt out like ripe Brown-shellers. His Leather Galligaskin’s rent, Made Artless Music as he went.... His Holey Stockins were ty’d up, One with a Band, one with a Rope.” In such clothes as these, the extreme poverty of which would bring a blush to the cheek of the modern Oxford paper-boy, this gloomy poet had to go to the Buttery and procure game and capons, ribs of beef, and other succulent dainties for some gentleman commoner’s dinner, while for himself there was nothing but “Poor scraps and Cold as I’m a sinner.” As a place to lay his head o’ nights, he was thankful to get a lumber-room in the apex of the building, somewhere under the eaves, “A Room with Dirt and Cobwebs lin’d, Which here and there with Spittle Shin’d; Inhabited let’s see--by Four; If I mistake not, ’twas no more. Two buggy beds.... Their Dormer windows with brown paper, Was patch’d to keep out Northern Vapour. The Table’s broken foot stood on, An old Schrevelious Lexicon, Here lay together Authors various, From Homer’s _Iliad_, to Cordelius: And so abus’d was Aristotle, He only served to stop a bottle.... Where eke stood Glass, Dark-Lanthorns ancient Fragment of Mirerr, Penknife, Trencher, And forty things which I can’t mention. Old Chairs and Stools, and such-like Lumber, Compleatly furnisht out the Chamber.” George Whitefield, a servitor at Pembroke in 1732, also shared his rooms with others. His companions, however, did not appear to have suffered unduly from the usual depression caused by their hard lot, for they frequently invited Whitefield to join them “in their excess of riot,” and looked upon him as a weird and extraordinary creature for his persistent refusals. His account of the manner of his admission to Pembroke College is characteristic of the man, and gives an idea of what tasks servitors were called upon to perform. “Being now near eighteen years old, it was judged proper for me to go to the university. God had sweetly prepared my way. The friends before applied to, recommended me to the Master of Pembroke College. Another friend took up ten pounds upon bond (which I have since repaid), to defray the first expence of entring; and the Master, contrary to all expectations, admitted me servitor immediately.