VI.

Fill high the Audit bowl! The feast in hall prepare! Reft of his robes, he yet may share the feast, Close by the Master’s chair, Contempt and laughter scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray, Gown to gown and cap to cap? Hark at the Johnian gates each thund’ring rap, While thro’ opposing Dons they move their way, Ye Johnian towers, old W――d’s eternal shame, With many a midnight imposition fed, Revere his algebra’s immortal fame, And spare the meek mechanic’s holy head. Each bristled _boar_ will bear no more, And meeting in the Combination Room, They stamp their vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.