Victoria University College Carnival, 1914

"Boadicea."

"Boadicea."

Opening Chorus.

Act I.

G. G. G. W— tson: Cheer up, Never mind. We all know it was very hard to swallow an insult along with one's own (?) bath water.

Do—o - n't be noisy!

The Sons of Oak
Saecular oak that is symbolic.
Of age: of might,
The sage: the fight,
The priests of the oak are we.

The Sons of Oak
In a community bucolic
We teach: we rule,
We preach: we fool,
Enshrouded in mystery.

Chief Druid:— And my intent
Omnes:— Let it be law
Chiel Druid:— And if a fool dissent
Omnes:— Bring him before—
Bring him before our justice by the altar smoke.

The Sons of Oak
Count it a most diverting, frolic
To hack: to slice
A sacrifice
To honour the Sacred tree.

The hour of sacrifice draws nigh,
The Druid chants his hymn of adoration;
The gods of Britain hear his cry
And hearken to the voice of supplication;
They watch the writhing victims die,
And breathe the altar's sacred exhalation.

Regent Cigarettes Have No Equal.

" John Bull." Prologue to "Boadicea."

Behold me! the emblem of great nationality,
Healthy and hearty and ample of girth;
Father of children that boast rationality,
Pick of humanity—salt of the earth!
They say that I'm stodgy and lacking vivacity,
Bourgeois and backward and beefy and dense;
I do not envy their foreign loquacity,
Gibes at my mental and moral expense.
Yes, I am proud of my cerebral density:
Never was greater than I am to-day.
Let 'em glance round at my Empire's immensity—
Sneer in their foreign malodorous way.
Here from old England's secure insularity
Have I gone forth to the east and the west,
Firing the Gospel at naked Barbarity,
Much as he'll swallow and more—than digest.
As soon as the missions have gained solidarity,
Sorted the niggers and softened their hate,
Pushing the platform of faith, hope, and charity,
Cometh a cruiser to let in the state.
I grant them the boon of an intricate polity,
Wet with the ink of my Government brand;
Leave 'em to parder such words as "equality,"
Road up the back-blocks and whack up the land.
Then do the niggers, converted and dilat'ry,
Up and take notice—collect bits of wood.
Let 'em rebel and I call in the milit'ry,
All, understand, for their spiritual good.
The sceptical laughs at my "obvious audity"
Tribute my helping the heathen to greed.
Didn't I preach to them, trouser their nudity?
Bring the ineffable boon of a creed?
He goes on to say that I sap their virility,
Teach them my vices, and that sort of talk.
True, they acquire with surprising agility
The delicate art of extracting a cork.
Drat his impertinence! When did the sceptic
Ever achieve such an Empire as mine?
His proudest effort is laughter dyspeptic
At me, his protector—the cowardly swine!
I don't care a farthing what slander men say of me,
Tricks they get up to, or hurt they intend;
Give them the start of a year and a day of me,
My beef and my backbone will win in the end.
So, behold me the emblem of great nationality!
Healthy and hearty and ample of girth,
Father of children that boast rationality,
Cream of humanity, cream of the earth.

Regent Cigarettes Have No Equal.

Regent Cigarettes in Beautiful Vest Pocket Tins.

"Boadicea."

Vignette

"Men nudge each other—thus—and say,

'This certainly is Shakespeare's son!'

And merry wags (of course in play),

Cry, 'Author!' when the piece is done.

In presenting the extravaganza "Boadicea," we wish to disclaim all intention of local, religious, or political satire. We hasten to assert that the Queen does not represent a phase of the Woman Suffrage movement, and we might look long before finding any trace of resemblance between mighty Caesar and Sir Joseph Ward (Bart ). We write of greater things. John Bull as a civilising force is easily the most active in the world, but when surveying his motives in this respect he is an inveterate optimist. If we read history aright there is little material difference between the colonising ethics of Pagan Rome and Christian England—and so our extravaganza.

Characters of the Play:

Prologue (John Bull).. .. .. Mr. A. B. Sievwright

Romans:

Caius Julius Cæsar.. .. .. Mr. H. M. Ewart

(Roman Commander)

Chief Deputy Assistant Augur.. .. .. Mr. C. W. Batten

(Attache to Cæsar)

Crassus .. .. .. Mr. L. A. Rogers

(Centurion and Ragtime Expert)

Chorus of Roman Soldiers.

Britons:

Boadicea.. .. .. Mr. L. P. Leary

(Queen of the Britons)

Chief Druid.. .. .. Mr. P. B. Broad

Llewellan .. .. .. Mr. A. P. Meldrum

(Boadicea's Lieutenant)

Druids: Kilty, Canute, and Hjprs Messrs. Seddon, Jowett, and Evans

Briton Children.. .. .. Misses Still, Gill, And Mellor

Chorus of Briton Men and Women.

Conductor.. .. .. Dr. Kington Fyffe, Mus. Bac.

Deputy Conductors.. .. .. Miss Clachan and Mr. Stainton

Leader of the Orchestra .. .. .. Miss Wells

Scenic Artist and Costumiere.. .. .. Mrs Hannah

Stage Manager.. .. .. Mr R. M. G. Butcher

The Victoria University College Students Association (Incorporated) desires to express its sincere thanks to all those ladies and gentlemen who have so willingly given valuable assistance in the various activities of the Carnival.

Finale Act I: The Feast Song.

Lay out the roses and wine,
Oak leaves and purple entwine,
There will big feasting and drinking deep,
Far into daylight the wassail keep.
Briton and Roman recline,
Pledge we the sweets of the vine,
Let there be hearty accord,

While we dine bis.).

Pledge we our regal mistress at home,
Pledge we the Eagle, Cæsar of Rome.
They owe a duty, let them unite,
She in her beauty, he in his might;
We will be loyal unto them both.
Let there be royal plighting of troth,
Queenly and fair, Cæsar benign,
Hark to our prayer, aud take her for thine.
Pledge we their troths its we dine,
And at the nuptials define,
A racial boundary line,
Julius Cæsar and Boadicea,
Bordering both on a Strata via,
See how their head! they incline,
Yes, they are willing to sign,
National union's assured,

While we dine (bis.).

"Soft words with nothing in them make a song." — Waller.

W. F. H—gg: We thought it was only a shadow.

W. F. H—gg: We thought it was only a shadow.

The Song of Victoria College.

Aedem colimus Minervae
Acti desiderio
Artes nosse liberales
Hoc in Hemispherio
Aedem colimus Musarum.
Sub Australi sidere;
Nos a Musis maria longa
Nequeunt dividere.

Studiosi, studiosae
Captant sapientiam;
Circa venti turbulenti
Auferunt desidiam.
Omnium Collegiorum
Surgit hoc novissimum;
Ergo vires iuveniles
Exhibent fortissimum.

Nomen quod profert sodales
Fausto sit oraculo;
Ut Deus regno reginae
Faveat curriculo.
Per vias laboriosas
Doctrinarum omnium
Docti ducunt professores
Obsequens servitium.

Corpus sanum ne sit absens
Properamus ludere
Subter iugum occupantes
Fuste pilam trudere
Oratores, Oratrices
Audias effundere
Voces dignas Cicerone
Et sellas pertundere.

Chorus.
O! Victoria, sempiterna
Sit tibi felicitas
Alma mater, peramata
Per aetates maneas.

The Wellington Weather.

Solo: Crassus.
Ho! a copious sort er climate is this 'ere—
It's a dogfight an' a thunderstorm in one.
Why! a furriner's in paralytic fear
Of ev'ry bloomin' thing excep' the sun.
Such a wind I never felt in Rome,
An' if Cæsar was ter come ter Wellington,
If he'd half the retinue 'e sports at 'ome,
'E'd 'ave twenty boys ter 'old 'is toga on.

Chorus:
So 'ere's to you Wellingtonians an' yer 'ealthy 'efty wind;
You are wictims ter a climate of a most distressin' kind.
An' as I walk up Willis Street an' twig the pebbles dance—
Olympus an' its thunderbolts, well, ain't a circumstance

An Echo of Takapau.

An Echo of Takapau.

Major Shandy: On your right is the west, on your left is the east: what is behind you?

Private Thicknut: P—p—please, my, my haversack!

Regent Cigarettes Have No Equal.

Regent Cigarettes in Brown and Heliotrope Packets.

Air an' water's 'ealthy, so its reckoned;
An' in that respec' you cannot make complaint;
Fer its mostly blowin' 40 miles a second,
An' inwariably rainin' w'en it ain't.
But if a sunny mornin' come along,
The dweller in the City winks 'is eye:
'E bloomin' well suspec's there's somethin' wrong,
An' the deluge of the evenin' leaves 'im dry.

Chorus:
I reckon that the Rev. Bates could run a sort o' tote,
With 'eavy odds agin the man wot goes without a coat.
I tell you, Wellingtonians, that even Bobby Stout
Is gamblin' with the elements w'enever 'e goes hout.

Lars' week-end w'en they let me hout on bail
I went shootin' rabbits roun' behind Karori.
As the Cœlum (1) looked like thunder, rain, an' hail,
I went ter 'ear the augur tell 'is story.
I says, "Wot chance is there of Tempestas Serena"?(2)
'E says, "Tandem tibi erunt res secundæ." (3)
I suppose that this was really meant to mean a
Thunderstorm that got up on the Sunday.

Chorus:
I took the augur at 'is word an' found that I was cheated;
I got snowed up upon the 'ills an' 'ad my bail estreated.
So take my tip, that augur only kids 'e knows the Fates,
An' 'ceptin' w'en 'e's croakin', don't believe in Mr. Bates.

1) Sky.
2) Decent weather.
3) You've got a fine day for it at last.

"It is not poetry, but prose run mad." —Pope.

The Roman Rag.

Cæsar is the man I've had my eye upon,
Ever since he went and passed by Rubi Cohn.
It may seem rotten to Rubi,
But whatever her point of view be,
I admire Cæsar and his Latin prose,
I admire Cæsar and his Roman nose,
Superfine! Leonine!
He's what the lassies would call divine.

Chorus.
Give me Julius Cæsar, dear old Julius Cæsar.
Hear those people asking their friends
Who's that handsome gheezer? Why, it's Julius Cæsar.
J-U-L-I, what a pretty name is Julius.
Then come you Mauds and Marys,
Read his commentaries;
Sing like blithe canaries,
Praise that never varies,
For my Julius Cæsar, dear old Julius Cæsar;
He's the bird for me.

Cæsar in his childhood was a clever brat,
Conjugate could he "amo, amas, amat."

Regent Cigarettes Have No Equal.

Regent Cigarettes in Brown and Heliotrope Packets.

Chorus.

Give me Julius Caesar, etc.

Behind the Scenes at the Carnival.

Behind the Scenes at the Carnival.

First Actor(?): Are you Appius Crassus?

Second Ditto: No! I'm miserable as blazes.

"A college joke, to cure the dumps."

—Swift.

Finale Act II.

Britons:—The sword of the Briton is rusting,
His bow unstrung and at rest,
His heart in its innocence trusting,
The Roman who came as a guest.
The anvils of Rome are a-forging
The fetters that fester and gall,
The Eagles of Rome are a-gorging,
On carrion under the pall.

Romans:—Now Britain by Rome is protected,
Which means that we govern the land,
An item it's hardly expected,
The Britons can quite understand.
The blessings of civilisation,
Are vents for Druidical spleen;
For in stirring him out of stagnation,
They settled for ever his queen.

Britons:—We pray to our gods that they rend him,
'Tis just that this Caesar should die
In the height of his power may they send him
A sign that their vengeance is nigh—
A night-sky, portentous and ruddy,
—A presage of violent end—
And Cæsar, the ruthless, the bloody,
Shall die by the hand of a friend.

Romans:—We've given him every assistance,
We've helped him to conquer his foes,
And the thanks that we get is resistance
To laws that we choose to impose.
Taken all round he's a rotter,
By rights we should leave him him to rot,
For he'd get it a thousand times hotter
As soon as we quitted the spot.

All:—So here's to the broadsword and Roman;
Abide we the test of the fight:
Alike of the Briton and Roman,
The law of the might that is right.
For men are born fighters by nature,
And the history of Britain and Rome
Is a chapter of her legislature
From her great international tome.

"And damned be he that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'" —"Macbeth."

Regent Cigarettes Have No Equal.

Regent Cigarettes in Brown and Heliotrope Packets.

"The Green and Gold."

Just one stave more and the song is done—
A stave for the olden time:
One age has passed, and the age to come
Is the age of the golden prime!
So praise we the men who have passed away,
Who hold to a legend bold—
Whatever a sordid world may say,
Wisdom is more than gold.

Chorus.
So when we are singing of College,
Singing the songs of old,
Think of the past,
Hold to the last,
That it's wisdom that's more than gold!

For this is the burthen of the world,
Which is speaketh day by day,
Though many a worldly lip be curled
With a sneer that it does not pay;
In our ears is the voice of a Mammon age,
In our hearts is a tale that's old,
The tale of our garnered heritage—
The Wisdom that's more than gold!

Glossary.

Stoicus ... ... A wowser

Epicinus ... ... A good sport

Patricius ... ... A member of the Upper House Hon. C. H. Mills, etc.)

Gracchi ... ... Labour agitators

Cædes ... ... The Strike

Equites (Casca, Brutus and Red Feds. Cassius)

Optimus Quisque Civis The Reform Party

Cum grano Salis ... As Mr. Yon Haast says

Nonne Caesar nihi credit? Won't Caesar give me tick?

Gaudium ... ... The glad eye

Bonus dies ... ... How is it?

Pax vobiscum ... Nice, thank you

Ora pro nobis ... How's yourself?

Falernian ... ... A long shandy

Toga ... ... Trousers

* Not as vulgularly supposed—a small Indian coin, but a favourite cuss-word of the Terrible Pics.