"Hang the old thing!"

"Drown it!"

"Down with the Gym bell!"

"Murder!"

"Oh, Melancholy!"

"Silence!" cried the bandmaster. "Give 'em The Gym Bell—all ready below! La-da-da-dee!"

"Too high!"

"La-da-da-dum. Slow and melancholy. One, two, three!"

When the shades of night are falling
Round our campus, green and fair,
All the drowsy sons of Lawrence
To their couches then repair.
Soon the slumber god has bound them
With his spell of magic power,
And he holds them thus enchanted
Till the early morning hour.

"Up legs and at 'em now, Rip her out—chorus!"