Go to Coll.

"To the World at Large."—By an Undergraduate.

Air: "Go to Sea."

Do you want to know the finest life that's ever to be had,
Go to Coll. my lads, go to Coll.
Do you want to live the life of a jolly undergrad,
Go to Coll, my lads, go to Coll.
Oh, whether you take Arts or Mathematics,
Pol. Econ. Mental Sci. or Hydrostatics,
Or Jurisprudence, Law or Ancient Classics,
Philosophy that never makes you sad,
Go to Coll; Yes, go to Coll.

Then Yeo Ho, away to Coll we'll go,
And we'll make of you a jolly undergrad,
It's a life one ought to lead,
And improve by act and deed,
It's the best that's to be had.

If you want to know what fees to pay and whom to pay them to,
Go to Powles, my lads, go to Powles.
If you want to keep your first terms and don't know what to do,
Go to Powles, my lads, go to Powles.
And if you want to be matriculated,
Have the rules of the Coll elaborated,
Your golden guineas all appropriated,
And while you wait receipts made out to you—
Go to Powles; Yes, go to Powles.

Then Yeo Ho, away to Powles we'll go,
And we'll make of you a jolly undergrad.
If you don't pay up in time,
He'll make you stand a fine,
It's, a thing to do he's glad.

If you want to write good Latin Prose and do not know the way,
Go to John, my lads, go to John.
If you want to talk in ancient Greek the livelong night and day,
Go to John, my lads, go to John.
Of classic puns (?) you want an explanation,
On Cæsar's Gallic War a dissertation,
Concerning Cicero a peroration,
Or be the hero in a Grecian Play,
Go to John; Yes, go to John.

Then Yeo Ho, away to John we'll go,
And we'll make of you a chronic classic swot,
If you don't attend in class,
You can never get a pass,
It's a little way he's got.

If you want to hear a Scotchman's jokes (impossible you say),
Go to Hugh, my lads, go to Hugh.
And hear about St. Andrew's, where students never pay,
Go to Hugh, my lads, go to Hugh.
And if you want a genial Professor,
Of noisy undergrads a stern suppressor,
To Bobby Burns an adequate successor,
A prince of profs, whom all pronounce O.K.,
Go to Hugh; Yes, go to Hugh.

Then Yeo Ho, away to Hugh we'll go,
And we'll number you in brave Mackenzie's clan,
If his lectures are not clear,
Write twelve essays every year,
And you'll pass your term's exam.

I Wonder.

Air: "I wonder who's kissing her now."

"Have you ever done it yourself, Max?"

When a man's getting old and contented and fat,
He delights to discourse with a friend
Of the games that he played and the tricks he was at,
And the dances he used to attend.
But at times recollection is clouded with woe;
He remembers with sorrow and pain
The professors he cursed in the dim long ago . . .
So he curses them over again.

"I wonder who's cursing them now,
I wonder who's cursing them now;
I wonder how they are all getting on:
Prosy John, Wicked Von,
Is Laby as gay as of old?
Has Hunter returned to the fold?
I wonder if Mac is a golf maniac,
I wonder who curses them now."

When a man's getting old, he is wise to display
A respectful regard for the truth,
But he recollects perfectly Rawdon St. J.
And the humbugs he met in his youth.
He remembers concocting a famous reply,
Being fined by the Captain, and how
He once pulled Beere's leg with a palpable lie . . .
And he wonders who's pulling it now!

"I wonder who's pulling it now,
I wonder who's riling him now,
I wonder who's drilling out on the park,
In [unclear: the] dark! (What a lark!)
Is Easterfield weary of fame?
Has Zedlitz deserted the game?
I wonder if Short has gone back on the sport,
I wonder who bullies them now!"

When a man's getting old, he is cheerful and sleek,
But his muscle and wind do not last,
So his mind sympathetic with folk that are weak,
Raises footballers out of the past.
He laments o'er his own disappearing physique,
But concludes with this positive vow:
He would rather be old than get licked once a week. . .
And he wonders who's licking them now!

"I wonder who's licking them now!
I wonder who's doing it now!
I wonder who's dropping the easy pass
On the grass! (Silly ass!)
I wonder if all of them play
In the old lackadaisical way;
Do the papers still croak? Are the wasters a joke?
I wonder who's licking them now!"

The Sorrows of Virtue.

Air: "I've got a motter."

I've always been, since I was three,
Anxious to gain an LL.B.,
That is a job that just suits me,
I'm such a good talker.
I thought I ought to
Come to Wellington;
There at the great 'Varsity
Students are coached for their degree.
There I'd shine,
The profs. would think me "AI."
Now that Adamson's caught the flu
Bright are my chances of getting through.
It's a short life and a gay one.

So I climbed up the hill to swot
Contracts and torts and all that rot,
Garrow soon made the pace too hot,
So I joined the wasters.
I harrow Garrow,
I'm so thick in the head.
His thoughts of me are most unkind,
He says at work I lag behind.
The other day
He said enough to slay one.

"If you don't take my lectures," to me he said,
"You'd better stop working, you're, just as well dead."
It's a hard life, not a gay one.

What would you do if you were me?
My style of work seems all at sea.
I don't now want an LL.B.,
I want to stop working.
I'm not a swotter,
They have to work too hard.
I'll look round to try and, find
Some soft job that's silver-lined.
The Government
Really ought to pay one,
And then I'll say to myself, Be gay,
You've nothing to do but to draw your pay.
It's a long life and a gay one.

—N'Importe.

Yes, Jerry, it Should be "tigress."

Revels.

Air: "Shine, Shine, Moon."

Now with reason for a season swat is quite abated,
While in joyous unison we hold our capping spree,
From the lab. and from the law school's archives antiquated,
Swats. Sports, Saints and Heretics in camaraderie.

Though we're thrifty, there are fifty toasts we'd like to honour:
Our professors and our messers on the Rugby field,
Students' Ass. and club committees, all the men who don a
Cap and gown, or pads or jersey, or who win a shield.

For you know
At our University
We can show
Quite a great diversity.
These we pledge
On our jolly Capping Day,
Ere we give you our "good-night."

Many doings, many wooings we would like to publish:
Williams' three-mile, Freddy's high jump, Burb's electric schols,
Trigg's researches, Daniell's virtues, we would fain establish;
Or, alas! the fact that Froggy is no longer Coll's.

Ho! boys! Ho!
Give your voices to the theme;
We may crow
That our leaders are the cream.
Now's the time
On this jolly Capping Day,
Ere we give you our "good-night."

But the "game 'uns" who have got there are our choicest topic:
B.A.'s, M.A.'s, LL.B.'s, and other Bachelors.
Worthies of the bar and medicine fellows philosophic:
These we pledge with brimming beaker while our chorus roars,—

Hi! Hi! Grads,
Ye we honour while we may,
Factious fads,
Toil and woe are laid away.
Now's the time
On this jolly Capping Day,
Ere we give you our "good-night."

Vagaries.

A. W. Delamore: "We understand; purely platonic.

Air: "Moonstruck" . . . "Our Miss Gibbs."

Now here we have men of every kind,
And most of them sport enough;
Some spend midnights making mind,
But most a time that's short enough, that's short enough.
They jump like rockets, and they run like hares;
They dance like crickets till the midnight wears.
Talking, quibbling, over rules and such,
At exams you'll find won't help you much!
Men are such sillies when they come to Coll.,
Forget that they swatted when they won a schol.
Flirting, playing, all their skill displaying.
Nothing matters to the men at Coll.!

And girls we have of every sort:
Some are pretty, but the most are not,
Though every one could be called a sport.
And bless us! how the girls can swat,
The girls, how they can swat!
They read through volumes, and they cram up notes,
Know all the points on which each Prof. just dotes;
Picken's simple, John Brown-means no toil,
But they forget their charms will spoil!
Girls are such sillies when they come to Coll.,
Waste all their "chances" just to get a schol.
Men are charming, suffragettes alarming,
Nothing matters to the girls at Coll!

Now, students they are queer folk, there's no doubt,
We're none of us so very wise;
We come, to swat, but we soon find out
That ambition of learning dies, all ambition soon dies.
We smile at sages and we mock at time,
Exams have no terrors for our hearts sublime,
Profs. may lecture, text-books we may buy,
We can't get through although we try.
Who's such a silly as an undergrad?
Always apparent if there's fun to be had;
Always lacking where there is brain-racking.
Nothing matters to the undergrad!

—"Lunar."