Classic Poem

Tu ne quaesieris

Seek not, dear boy, to overstrain
The intellect for this exam;
Nor gauge amiss the gastric pain
That comes of undigested cram;
Nor ask the heathenish Chaldee
For tips in pure theology.

Far happier he who doesn't mind
One little blow about the fray;
Who, if the foeman prove unkind,
Gently, but firmly, runs away:
Who puts his money in the slot,
And comes and takes another shot.

Be wise and fill the flowing can;
Strain off the fatal pips, and wash
The dust of work away with an
Alleviating lemon-squash;
There's something very nice, I think,
About an effervescent drink.

Eschew the heated lecture-hall;
Drive by its door, and pay no heed
To Cranmer on his pedestal,
Or holy Pearson on the Creed.
Blow up the horn; blow, while you may;
And, so to put it, pluck the day.

Come, pluck the day — I never knew
How people set about the thing; —
Come, brush aside the early dew,
And have your matutinal fling;
Time wears a forelock on his brow;
You'd better take him by it now.

Trust not the morrow, lest it turn
Traitor and trump your cherished hope;
Youth flies — I'd give a lot to learn
Who first conceived that trenchant trope; —
This blessed hour my urgent rhyme
Is half a week behind the time.