When now mature in classic knowledge,
The joyful youth is sent to college,
His father comes, a vicar plain,
At Oxford bred — in Anna's reign,
And thus, in form of humble suitor,
Bowing accosts a reverend tutor:
— Sir, I'm a Glo'stershire divine,
And this my eldest son of nine;
My wife's ambition and my own
Was that this child should wear a gown:
I'll warrant that his good behaviour
Will justify your future favour;
And, for his parts, to tell the truth,
My son's a very forward youth;
Has Horace all by heart — you'd wonder —
And mouths out Homer's Greek like thunder.
If you'd examine — and admit him,
A scholarship would nicely fit him;
That he succeeds 'tis ten to one;
Your vote and interest, Sir! — — 'Tis done.
Our pupil's hopes, though twice defeated,
Are with a scholarship completed:
A scholarship but half maintains,
And college-rules are heavy chains:
In garret dark he smokes and puns,
A prey to discipline and duns;
And now, intent on new designs,
Sighs for a fellowship — and fines.
When nine full tedious winters past,
That utmost wish is crown'd at last:
But the rich prize no sooner got,
Again he quarrels with his lot:
— These fellowships are pretty things,
We live indeed like petty kings:
But who can bear to waste his whole age
Amid the dulness of a college,
Debarr'd the common joys of life,
And that prime bliss — a loving wife!
O! what's a table richly spread,
Without a woman at its head!
Would some snug benefice but fall,
Ye feasts, ye dinners! farewell all!
To offices I'd bid adieu,
Of Dean, Vice Præs. — of Bursar too;
Come joys, that rural quiet yields,
Come, tythes, and house, and fruitful fields! —
Too fond of freedom and of ease
A patron's vanity to please,
Long time he watches, and by stealth,
Each frail incumbent's doubtful health;
At length, and in his fortieth year,
A living drops — two hundred clear!
With breast elate beyond expression,
He hurries down to take possession,
With rapture views the sweet retreat —
— What a convenient house! how neat!
For fuel here's sufficient wood:
Pray God the cellars may be good!
The garden — that must be new plann'd —
Shall these old-fashion'd yew-trees stand?
O'er yonder vacant plot shall rise
The flowery shrub of thousand dies: —
Yon wall, that feels the southern ray,
Shall blush with ruddy fruitage gay:
While thick beneath its aspect warm
O'er well-rang'd hives the bees shall swarm,
From which, ere long, of golden gleam
Metheglin's luscious juice shall stream:
This awkward hut, o'ergrown with ivy,
We'll alter to a modern privy:
Up yon green slope of hazels trim,
An avenue so cool and dim
Shall to an harbour, at the end,
In spite of gout, entice a friend.
My predecessor lov'd devotion —
But of a garden had no notion. —
Continuing this fantastic farce on,
He now commences country parson.
To make his character entire,
He weds — a cousin of the 'Squire;
Not over weighty in the purse,
But many doctors have done worse:
And though she boasts no charms divine,
Yet she can carve and make birch wine.
Thus fixt, content he laps his barrel,
Exhorts his neighbours not to quarrel;
Finds his church wardens have discerning
Both in good liquor and good learning;
With tythes his barns replete he sees,
And chuckles o'er his surpliee fees;
Studies to find out latent dues,
And regulates the state of pews,
Rides a sleek mare with purple housing,
To share the monthly club's carousing;
Of Oxford pranks facetious tells,
And — but on Sundays — hears no bells;
Sends presents of his choicest fruit,
And prunes himself each sapless shoot;
Plants cauliflow'rs, and boasts to rear
The earliest melons of the year;
Thinks alteration charming work is,
Keeps Bantam cocks, and feeds his turkies;
Builds in his copse a favourite bench,
And stores the pond with carp and tench. —
But ah! too soon his thoughtless breast
By cares domestic is opprest;
And a third butcher's bill, and brewing,
Threaten mevitable ruin:
For children fresh expences yet,
And Dicky now for school is fit.
— Why did I sell my college life,
He cries, — for benefice and wife?
Return, ye days, when endless pleasure
I found in reading, or in leisure!
When calm around the common room
I puff'd my daily pipe's perfume!
Rode for a stomach, and inspected,
At annual bottlings, corks selected:
And din'd untax'd, untroubled, under
The portrait of our plous Founder!
When impositions were supplied
To light my pipe — or soothe my pride —
No cares were then for forward peas,
A yearly-longing wife to please;
My thoughts no christ'ning dinners crost,
No children cried for butter'd toast;
And every night I went to bed,
Without a Modus in my head! —
Oh! trifling head, and fickle heart!
Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art;
A dupe to follies yet untry'd,
And sick of pleasures, scarce enjoy'd!
Each prize possess'd, thy transport ceases,
And in pursuit alone it pleases.
The joyful youth is sent to college,
His father comes, a vicar plain,
At Oxford bred — in Anna's reign,
And thus, in form of humble suitor,
Bowing accosts a reverend tutor:
— Sir, I'm a Glo'stershire divine,
And this my eldest son of nine;
My wife's ambition and my own
Was that this child should wear a gown:
I'll warrant that his good behaviour
Will justify your future favour;
And, for his parts, to tell the truth,
My son's a very forward youth;
Has Horace all by heart — you'd wonder —
And mouths out Homer's Greek like thunder.
If you'd examine — and admit him,
A scholarship would nicely fit him;
That he succeeds 'tis ten to one;
Your vote and interest, Sir! — — 'Tis done.
Our pupil's hopes, though twice defeated,
Are with a scholarship completed:
A scholarship but half maintains,
And college-rules are heavy chains:
In garret dark he smokes and puns,
A prey to discipline and duns;
And now, intent on new designs,
Sighs for a fellowship — and fines.
When nine full tedious winters past,
That utmost wish is crown'd at last:
But the rich prize no sooner got,
Again he quarrels with his lot:
— These fellowships are pretty things,
We live indeed like petty kings:
But who can bear to waste his whole age
Amid the dulness of a college,
Debarr'd the common joys of life,
And that prime bliss — a loving wife!
O! what's a table richly spread,
Without a woman at its head!
Would some snug benefice but fall,
Ye feasts, ye dinners! farewell all!
To offices I'd bid adieu,
Of Dean, Vice Præs. — of Bursar too;
Come joys, that rural quiet yields,
Come, tythes, and house, and fruitful fields! —
Too fond of freedom and of ease
A patron's vanity to please,
Long time he watches, and by stealth,
Each frail incumbent's doubtful health;
At length, and in his fortieth year,
A living drops — two hundred clear!
With breast elate beyond expression,
He hurries down to take possession,
With rapture views the sweet retreat —
— What a convenient house! how neat!
For fuel here's sufficient wood:
Pray God the cellars may be good!
The garden — that must be new plann'd —
Shall these old-fashion'd yew-trees stand?
O'er yonder vacant plot shall rise
The flowery shrub of thousand dies: —
Yon wall, that feels the southern ray,
Shall blush with ruddy fruitage gay:
While thick beneath its aspect warm
O'er well-rang'd hives the bees shall swarm,
From which, ere long, of golden gleam
Metheglin's luscious juice shall stream:
This awkward hut, o'ergrown with ivy,
We'll alter to a modern privy:
Up yon green slope of hazels trim,
An avenue so cool and dim
Shall to an harbour, at the end,
In spite of gout, entice a friend.
My predecessor lov'd devotion —
But of a garden had no notion. —
Continuing this fantastic farce on,
He now commences country parson.
To make his character entire,
He weds — a cousin of the 'Squire;
Not over weighty in the purse,
But many doctors have done worse:
And though she boasts no charms divine,
Yet she can carve and make birch wine.
Thus fixt, content he laps his barrel,
Exhorts his neighbours not to quarrel;
Finds his church wardens have discerning
Both in good liquor and good learning;
With tythes his barns replete he sees,
And chuckles o'er his surpliee fees;
Studies to find out latent dues,
And regulates the state of pews,
Rides a sleek mare with purple housing,
To share the monthly club's carousing;
Of Oxford pranks facetious tells,
And — but on Sundays — hears no bells;
Sends presents of his choicest fruit,
And prunes himself each sapless shoot;
Plants cauliflow'rs, and boasts to rear
The earliest melons of the year;
Thinks alteration charming work is,
Keeps Bantam cocks, and feeds his turkies;
Builds in his copse a favourite bench,
And stores the pond with carp and tench. —
But ah! too soon his thoughtless breast
By cares domestic is opprest;
And a third butcher's bill, and brewing,
Threaten mevitable ruin:
For children fresh expences yet,
And Dicky now for school is fit.
— Why did I sell my college life,
He cries, — for benefice and wife?
Return, ye days, when endless pleasure
I found in reading, or in leisure!
When calm around the common room
I puff'd my daily pipe's perfume!
Rode for a stomach, and inspected,
At annual bottlings, corks selected:
And din'd untax'd, untroubled, under
The portrait of our plous Founder!
When impositions were supplied
To light my pipe — or soothe my pride —
No cares were then for forward peas,
A yearly-longing wife to please;
My thoughts no christ'ning dinners crost,
No children cried for butter'd toast;
And every night I went to bed,
Without a Modus in my head! —
Oh! trifling head, and fickle heart!
Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art;
A dupe to follies yet untry'd,
And sick of pleasures, scarce enjoy'd!
Each prize possess'd, thy transport ceases,
And in pursuit alone it pleases.