M—ns—l his ample front sublime uprears;
Plac'd on his chair of state, he seems a God,
While Sophs and Freshmen, tremble at his nod.
Whilst all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom,
His voice in thunder shakes the sounding dome;
Denouncing dire reproach, to luckless fools,
Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules.
Happy the youth! in Euclid's axioms tried,
Though little vers'd in any art beside;
Who with scarce sense to pen an English letter,