To gain their wind the fliers try,
When lo! a figure gliding nigh,
Cries, "Name and college!"
"Beware the proctor's sacred paunch,
Beware the rushing bull-dog's launch!"
This was the porter's last good-night;
A voice replied, "It serves me right
For cutting college!"
Next morn, as tolled the stroke of nine,
Two youths, in dread of penal fine,