VIII.

Heads of houses, Doctors bold, Sublime their hoods and wigs they rear; Masters young, and Fellows old, In bombazeen and silk appear. In the midst a form divine, His eye proclaims him of the British line What cheers of triumph thunder thro’ the air. While the full tide of youthful thanks is pour’d. Hear from your chambers Price[64] and Hibbert,[64] hear; Th’ oppressor shrinks, the Union is restor’d. The treasurer flies to spread the news he brings, And wears, for triumph’s sake, yet larger chitterlings.