Chapter I

When one is young and eager, A bejant and a boy, Though his moustache be meagre, That cannot mar his joy When at the Competition He takes a fair position, And feels he has a mission, A talent to employ.

With pride he goes each morning Clad in a scarlet gown, A cap his head adorning (Both bought of Mr. Brown); He hears the harsh bell jangle, And enters the quadrangle, The classic tongues to mangle And make the ancients frown.

He goes not forth at even, He burns the midnight oil, He feels that all his heaven Depends on ceaseless toil; Across his exercises A dream of many prizes Before his spirit rises, And makes his raw blood boil.