Chapter XXIV: Act IV: Scene II

――――:o:――――

TO L. P. ON TAKING HIS DEGREE.

Fear no more the voice of the don,
Nor the oft-cut tutor’s rages,
Thou thy Oxford course hast run,
And art numbered with the sages.
All Oxford men, its my belief,
Must graduate or come to grief.

Fear no more the snarl of the sub[41],
Thou art past that tyrant’s stroke.
No more buttery beer, and grub,
No more rows with sported oak!
Even X.―――― himself, its my belief,
Must graduate or come to grief!

Fear no more the bull-dog’s dash,
Nor pursuing proctor’s tone.
Fear not rustication rash,
Thou art now a graduate grown!
All we, like thee, its my belief,
Must do the same or come to grief!
No dun’s accountant harm thee!
No ugly woman charm thee!
Tick unpaid forbear thee!
Never bill come near thee!
Prosper, flourish, gain renown,
Ere you take the master’s gown!

_Odd Echoes from Oxford_, by A. Merion, B.A. (London, J. C. Hotten, 1872).

AS YOU LIKE IT.