Victoria College Students' Carnival. Friday and Saturday, 29th & 30th June, 1906
Tableau II.—The Iron Age
Tableau II.—The Iron Age.
Opening Solo: "These are the Days."
"Well roared, lion." —Midsummer Night's Dream.
Air—"Let me like a Soldier Fall."—from "Maritana"
These are the days when blood runs fast
In frames of men of might;
Degrees don't count if a man can "last";
Pince-nez don't serve for sight;
But muscles are big, and pulses strong,
And brains work clear and quick;
And lungs are sound, and the stride is long,
And it's easy to keep in nick;
And to see if a man be right or wrong,
You've only the sides to pick.
We are the men who scorn to yield—
Who serves, his lot is shame;
Our joy is in a stricken field
With men who play the game.
These are the days of stress and throe,
And iron brain and nerve;
Bis,—And runs luck high or runs luck low,—
No quarter to men who swerve!
An age of rigour, toil, and fight—
We hold by courtesy
Of conquest what we claim our right,
Nor reck of chivalry.
And life is his who strikes the blow,
And death is his who falls:
Bis.—And runs luck high or runs luck low,—
No man for quarter calls!
"But I do it! It revolts me, but I do it." —Mikado.
On the old clay patch at Kelburne
Looking eastward to the sea,
There's a tennis court wants fixing,
And it's there you ought to be;
For the Council's got no money
So it's thus we pay our way—
Can't you hear old Dixon calling,
"Come and graft on Saturday!"
On the Salamanca road
While the dray tips up its load,
Can't you hear the shovels scraping
And the swung pickaxes play?
On the Salamanca road,
Where hard labour's a la mode,
You can see the navvies doing time
On every Saturday.
And the Council came approving,
And the Profs. they raised a team;
And the Premier as we cheered him,
Struck a monetary seam;
And with a smile and a shovel
Unearthed six thousand pounds;
So all things went on gaily
In the Salamanca grounds.
No place for cuffs and collars,
And your boots needn't be too clean;
What you want are hob-nailed bluchers,
And sundry togs that "have been";
For Bothamley's not supervisor,
And we haven't come here on parade,
And a pick and long-handled shovel
Constitute our stock-in-trade.
So whether you're Arts or Science,
Or a gentleman at large;
Whether lank or lean or sturdy
We won't give you in charge,
So long as you raise a blister,
So long as you earn your salt,
On the old clay patch at Kelburne.
Till the whistle goes for "Halt!"
Air—"The World went very well [unclear: turn]."
"His energetic fist
Ever ready to resist
A dictatorial word."
Though years have passed since the age of stone,
And iron now calls each thing her own,
This age may be called the "Pick" we've shown
For the world went very well then.
For those were the days of hack and hew,
And degrees were of muscle, of bone, and thew,
And lectures were hot, and strong, and few:
Yet students worked very well then.
"I once was a nice looking youth." —Ruddigore.
At last these men like the fossils came
To museum shelves with their iron frame,
And skeletons all with grins proclaim
That the profs, worked very well then.
And now that age has passed away,
We delve sometimes in an age of day,
And we dream as we speed the parting dray
That the bees worked very well then.