Chapter C: H. Bretherton

Feb. 21, 1917.

Breaking-Up Song

Now, when the ties that lightly bind us
Slacken awhile at the call of Home,
Leaving our latter-day science behind us,
Leaving the love of ancient Rome--
Ere we depart to enjoy for a season
Freedom from regular work and rules,
Come let us all in rhyme and reason
Honour the best of schools.

Here's to our Founder, whose ancient bounty
Freely bestowed with a pious care,
Fostered the youth of his native county,
Gave us a name we are proud to bear.
Here's to his followers, wise gift-makers,
Friends who helped when our numbers were few,
Widened our walls and enlarged our acres,
Stablished the school anew.

Here's to our Head, in whom all centres,
Ruling his realm with a kindly sway;
Here's to the Masters, our guides and mentors,
Helpers in work and comrades in play;
Here's to the Old Boys, working their way up
Out in the world on the ladder of Fame;
Here's to the New Boys, learning to play up,
Ay, and to play the game.

Time will bring us our seasons of trial,
Seasons of joy when our ship arrives,
Yet, whatever be writ on the dial,
Now is the golden hour of our lives;
Now is the feast spread fair before us--
None but slackers or knaves or fools
Ever shall fail to swell the chorus,
"Here's to the best of schools."