Song of the Ventilators.

We are really quite the latest, most attractive up-to-datest Thing in modern ventilators.
There are many potent factors, why intelligent contractors,
And the Council Board have backed us;
For we're neat and ornamental, and our style is Oriental,
And the noise we make is gentle;
But we're really not prepared to, no we certainly don't care to
Condescend to let the air through.

Song of the Windows.

Sad is the song that we sing you, woeful the tale that we tell;
Hark to the story we bring you, mark you our misery well.
Cold are the rains that bedew us, savage the winds that are dashed,
Many strange faces look through us, few are the times that we're washed.
page 63 And we're shakin', shakin', shakin', and our hearts are slowly breakin',
And we haven't any rest by day or night;
And the wind against us crashes, and we're shiverin' in our sashes,
For they haven't made the bloomin' things near tight.

Song of the Plaster.

Heigh Ho! I am the plaster, and
I'm made by some great master hand;
You surely will not doubt it.
And if you see a drop or two
Of dampness, use a mop or two,
And say no more about it.

What if I chip and crack a bit,
In beauty I don't lack a bit,
My colour is perfection.
There's nothing really mean in me,
If any one will lean on me,
I'll part with my complexion.

L'Envoi.

O College, fit subject for eloquent praises,
In odes and in stanzas and rhetoric's mazes.
Take heed of the tale of your servants so humble,
Who're part of your life, and who'll fall when you crumble.