"Hints to the Stout."

Air: "Jammy Face."

By "Non-smoker."

"He is extremely pretty, but he's inclined to be Stout."

Once some obtrusive Profs.
Formed an Association,
Which the grave Chancellor
Viewed not with approbation.
He wrote some letters to the "Post,"
All (like his speeches) long,
He rambled off the track to try
To prove the Profs. were wrong.

Chorus:
O learned Chancellor,
P'raps you are right
(In saying so I'm sure we give you pleasure):
Just make the students dumb,
Slay the Profs. outright,
Reform will then be quite a needless measure.

page 7

Of old our capping days
Were things to be enjoyed,
But that good state of things,
Left "Robbie" much annoyed.
He'd like to speak an hour or more,
And make us keep our seats,
And have the Profs. patrolling round,
Like "Bobbies" on their beats.

Chorus:
O ceremony slow,
How dull you'd be—
So let weak humour (?) brighten the proceeding.
Let no one drone along
In cruel monotony,
The yawns of weary victims never heeding.

Now all who read the "Post"
Are getting somewhat tired
Of learning that our ways
Leave much to be desired;
We're well-contented with our Profs.,
And they (let's hope) with us;
And so, Sir Bobby, won't you cease
From making such a fuss?

Chorus:
O correspondence long,
When will you die?
You've filled the papers longer than is proper;
So just to make an end,
Let Henry Bodley try—
Then "want of space" will prove a welcome stopper.