Air, "War March of the Priests."

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.

"Crassus and Boadicea."

(By the Immortal Duo.)

(Air: "Tin Gee Gee.")

"We met; 'twas in a crowd." —Bayly.—

Boadicea—Behold me here a warrior queen
With a womanly heart afire.
Crassus—And I am a Roman Prince I ween.
Did anyone mention liar!
Both—The banns will make a stir in Rome,
Of Cæsar and Boadicea.
Crsasus—For in point of fact I've a missus at home (twice)
Boadicea—And I have a husband here.
Boadicea—Now, what would I do if your civilised wife
Suddenly interfered?
Crassus—A thing like that in the Roman life
Is easily engineered.
A man in Rome has a power they call
The vitæ necesique,
And a sizeable club will answer all
A woman may have to say.
Both—Oh, it's not such a bad sort of power at all,
The vitæ necis que.
Crassus—And what would I do if your warrior boy
Came sudden-like on the job?
Boadicea—He'd relish a chance with chastened joy
To scuttle a Roman nob.
I promise he'll prove a nasty snag
You'd do very well to void.
Crassus—It seems that this matrimonial gag
Will keep me well employed. (twice)

Boadicea—So as I have beauty; (C.) and I have brain,
Both—We ought to make a hit.
Crassus—And I pledge my troth like an amorous swain
Both—On the half of a threepenny bit.
Crassus—I'll be your faithful character
Fo rever B.) or thereabout.
Both—So Julius Cæsar and Boadicea
May be paid to be walking out.

"A thousand, melodies unheard before." —Rogers.

page 14

"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.

page 15

page 16

Programme.

"If you have tears to shed—wait till the Interval."

1.	"Gaudeamus" (page 7).
2.	"Our Librarian" (page 7).
3.	Boadicea — Act I. Scene—Druids' Haunt at time of Cæsesar's landing. "John Bull": Prologue (page 14) Items—" Sons of Oak (page 11) Duet, "Crassus and Boadicea" (page 13) "Roman Chorus" (page 15) Maud Allan and the Churnyupsky Trio Finale—" The Feast Song" (page 19),
4.	"Song of Victoria College" (page 21) "We are but little children—weak." — Hadfield Hostel Hymnal. Interval. "Kind sleep affords The only boon the wretched mind can feel: A momentary respite from despair."
5.	"Farewell to David K." (page 22) "And heaven had wanted one immortal song." —Dryden.
6.	Boadicea — Act II. Scene— Same, but after three years occupation by Romans. Items— "The Wellington Weather" (Crassus) (page 23) "The Roman Rag" (Boadicea and Salamanca Male Quartet) (page 25) "Terrible Pic (Boadicea, Druid, Augur, and Soldier) (page 24) Mock Capping Day, with incidental music (?) Finale - "Britons and Romans" (page 29).
7.	"The Green and Gold" (page 30). "A good orchestra covers a multitude of dins."

Piano kindly lent by the Dresden Plano Company.

Limelight kindly lent by N.Z. Picture Supplies, Ltd.

"What we hae done for lack o' wit,

We never, never can reca';

We hope ye're a' our friends as yet,

Guid night, and joy be wi' you a'!"

—Burns.

"Boadicea."

Written And Produced By MR. L. P. Leary.

"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.

Air— "Come to the Ball."

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.

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.

Farewell to David K.

"To be great is to be misunderstood" —Emerson.

Air: "Thuringian Polk Song (Australian Students' Song Book, page 274.)

By "Candida."

Softly the bagpipes play
Some sentimental lay;
Listen, dear David K.,
They play for you.
Hark, how the heathen rage!
Facts rule this iron age,
Fancy is off the stage,
And so adieu.

Heed not the empty blast
Puffed out by shrill von Haast,
We know that pearls are cast
Oft in the sties.
If you had been a clown,
Or like MacMillan Brown,
You might have won renown
Great in his eyes.

If, like the men who preach,
You had but stooped to teach
Stuff that could easily reach
Children of one:
If you had sold your soul,
So that your Honours' roll
Always had topped the poll,
You would have done.

Stout would have stroked your fur,
Haast would have made you purr,
Maths! Ah, but what of her?
Has she no due?
Now let them hire a hack
Who will have all you lack;
But ere you take the track,
Here's ours to you!

"A thing of custom; 'tis no other."

—"Macbeth."

page 23

The Wellington Weather.

(Air: "Fuzzy-wuzzy.")

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

Regent Cigarettes Have No Equal.

page 24

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.

Terrible Pic.

(Air: "Barcarolle" from "Tales of Hoffman.")

Salamanca Male Quartet.
Once there lived a mathematician,
Terrible Pic they called him;
Fired he was with a heavenly mission—
Nothng on earth appalled him.
A great reforming light was Pic,
A fearless .soul and free;
He was a "Christian heretic"—
Whatever that may be.
He did not care a straw,

page 25

What the populace thought;
Yet their caprice is law
On the Te-en-nis Court.
How was our Pie
Suddenly changed!
Was it a trick?
Was it arranged?
Ah!!!

He we thought so high and proud,
Despising Mrs. Grundy,
Pandered to the vulgar crowd,
And closed the court on Sunday.
He would let us play:
He didn't give a damn^*
On any other day
But Sunday.
A day a damn,
A damn a day (till tired).

"He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one." —King Henry.

The Roman Rag.

Air: "On the Mississippi."

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."

page 26

An Old Song.

(By One Outside the Combine.)

Do you ever Smoke Tobacco?
Honey-do.
I like it Honey do,
Its fragrance is divine "Honeydew."
In my presence with your pipe
The scent is a delight,
Honey-do.

Your Tobacco is Tobacco,
Honey-do.
Don't waste time on others
but Honeydew.
When you Write or ring me up,
Honey-do,
Waft yourself into my presence,
Honeydew.

"Always in Full-Weight Tins."

page 27

If his Pa, while they were dining,
Asked his son to do some declining,
Caesar didn't cry and didn't give a damn,
Rattled off with ease "mensa, mensæ, mensam";
Not like us, "mensibus,"
He was a very smart little cuss.

Chorus.
Give me Julius Cæsar, etc.
Cæsar had some troubles with the tribes of Gaul,
But they didn't worry him, no, not at all.
He would gain their meek submissions
By the use of his prepositions.
Strongest men would falter and their hearts would throb
At the sight of "apud," "ante," "pro" and "ob,"
"Cum" and "cis": things like this,
They were the weapons that would not miss.

Chorus.

Give me Julius Caesar, etc.

Finale Act II.

(Air written specially by Mr. H. E. Gunter).

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."

page 30