Classic Poem

Whene'er I see those sculptured Three, above the New Schools' gate,
Whose stony forms a heart of stone too aptly indicate,
It minds me, as I gaze upon those cold, unfeeling men,
How often I've been ploughed before, and oft shall be again;
And O! that Undergraduate, receiving his degree —
They give that Undergraduate what ne'er they'll give to me!

Before my locks were streaked with grey, and seamed with care my brow,
I got through Mods. in seven tries — I often wonder how —
But Greats, alas! I cannot pass; for were my mind a sieve, I
Could just about as well retain the narrative of Livy.
They tell me where Saguntum was: I hear, but I forget —
I can't distinguish Hamilcar from Hasdrubal as yet!
They say my Aristotle 's " weak", and always mark " N.S." on
My papers when I try to prove that virtue is a ╬╝╬Á¤â╬┐╬¢:
And when I bring the Clerk a bob, he simply says in answer,
" What! give you a testamur, Sir! I much regret I can't, Sir."

Full proudly struts the Honourman, with look serene and high;
Yet O! although his task is hard, he's better off than I!
He 's specialized on all that 's known, and also much that 's not:
He knows far more than Liddell knew, and quite as much as Scott:

He uses philosophic terms so long 'tis hard to spell 'em,
Has all M-c-n's most recent tips, and theories from P-lh-m;
But can the boastful Honourman — can P-lh-m or M-c-n know
The various individuals who bore the name of Hanno?
No — much more difficult his task, superior far his art,
Who buys a crib at second-hand, and learns that crib by heart!

Still, ere I quite give up the game, and migrate hence to Durham
(For if examiners have hearts, some pity sure must stir 'em)
I'll try another bout with Fate — one last and desperate venture —
This time, perhaps, will victory crown my limp dejected trencher:
Then, proud as any ancient Greek who won the Isthmian parsley,
I'll sign myself R. Snooks, B.A., ex Aul. Magistri Charsley .