What We Like.

Air—" Down among the dead men."

Here's our ladye's health and fealty!
Nor hall, nor silver, nor silks has she:
But whoso wears her colours on lance
Will lack not fame nor favour's glance.
This health who drinks not deep and dry,
Down among the dead men let him lie!

So let's clink the glass to the green and gold,
And whenever our deeds in "Spike" are scrolled,
Let there be no line in the legend writ
Of traitor knight or quest unfit.
Who lifts not foot to the table high,
Down among the dead men let him lie!

And let's drink a drink to the driest gown;
Inside is a white man and outside a frown.
Though 'tis fine air he breathes and his tastes make you writhe,—
Such as rollicking Ramsay and frolicking Blyth.
Who lifts not bowl ere the bubbles die,
Down among the dead men let him lie!

To the true University man let us fill,
Hard player, high thinker, wide reader, at will—
Who serves first College and after, himself,
Whose care is for knowledge and not for the pelf.
Who tilts not the dye with a kindling eye,
Down among the dead men let him lie!

Here's life and luck to the College girl,
Likes she piety, tea, or lancers' whirl;
Who risks at the net the tan o' the sun,
And "sticks" at hockey scorns to shun.
Who drains not lief till the last drop dry,
Down among the dead men let him lie!

Here's a full-voiced toast to our merry men all,
Who take the field with our foemen tall;
In the swelter of summer, the bleakness of May,—
Club, leather, and racquet, the self-same way.
Who views not sport with a good "sport"-s eye,
Down among the dead men let him lie!

There's nothing like these, when all is said,
While the muscles bunch and the blood runs red.
The tune falls flat when the chord's unstrung—
But we are jolly and fit and young.
And who would mirth, song, waltz decry,
Down among the dead men let him lie!

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"I think but dare not speak.—Good (K)night good Doctor."—Macbeth.