And a bull-dog came running up, breathless and blown.
For when Townsmen meet gownsmen there’s always a riot,
And bull-dogs come sudden, some mischief to spy out,
While the College Dons are moaning.
The Proctors came up in their shining bands,
And they asked them their names, and they sent them down.
And their mothers are weeping and wringing their hands,
For those who will never come back to the town.
For men go to grief, and their mothers must pay,
And the sooner its over the better for they;