Soliloquy 1

Now is this essay done, long overdue
Completed post-haste by the son of Cook
And all the books that overran my mind
In the deep shelves of the library buried.
Now is my brow wiped free of anxious sweat,
My battered pen aside for future plays

My lengthy labours [unclear: stage] to party pleasures
My pressured writing [unclear: g] restful pennings.
Grim-faced tutor has wiped his feverish brow
And now instead of marking late essays
That fright the souls of witless students
He flitters freely through a self-chosen work
To the langerous murmers of a tute.

—B. Cook.