490 OXFORD, BY DAY AND NIGHT. 



These cries, although they impious seem 

 To strangers standing by the stream, 

 Are merely given utterance then, 

 To urge their fellow college men 

 To use the utmost strength and skill, 



That youth and tact to them supplies, 

 To pull on bold, untiring still, 



And shoot a head, and win the prize. 



The race is o'er, the freshmen young 

 To home, or " Roebuck" haste along. 

 In velvet sleeves " a sage grave man," 

 Just gives them as they pass a scan, 



A glance of anger mix'd with sorrow, 

 For well the knowing proctor can, 

 Foresee the lads ingenious plan 



To make their heads ache on the morrow. 

 Who can out-run sharp proctor ? who ? 

 Who can a proctor's tact out-do ? 

 Waiting for his dread civil-couch'd command, 



Holliday that little marshal lingers near ; 

 And at his heels a trusty, surly band 



Of " bull dogs" poise the listening ear. 

 Just where the hills of Headington arise, 



Shortly ere night hath gain'd its noon, 

 Thither will the proctors hasten to surprise 



Gay youths enamoured of the moon ! 

 St. Clements is a favourite place 



For those who seek night's beauties rare. 

 To Jericho, meanwhile light-limb'd pro-proctors race, 

 Freshmen and graduates to trace, 



Studying the heavenly bodies there ! 



The spread is ready, and the bottle 

 Stands waiting for each thirsty throttle ; 

 Soon Sadler's dainties disappear, 

 The lobster sallad bowl is clear. 

 The glorious guttle now commences, 



And woe to him who shirks his glass, 

 Or him who deals in sly pretences, 



And tries to let the bottle pass. 



Their converse is of deeds they've done, 



Of matches lost, of money won ; 



The bets they've hedg'd, the stakes they've laid, 



The grooms, the trainers they have paid ! 



The dogs they've fought, the shots they've fir'd, 



The gates they've leap'd, the birds brought down; ^ 

 The boxing lore they have acquir'd 



To punch the heads of half the town. 

 To " fancy" every glass is fill'd, 

 In " fancy" every lad is skill'd, 

 For commoners of Brazen-nose, 



Of Magdalen, and of Trinity, 

 Now study heavy body blows, 



Not bodies of divinity ! 



Gin punch ! the order of the night is. 

 Gin punch ! the Oxonian's great delight is, 



