To serve a friend, and bate a foe, it always was the plan
Of a raal ould Irish Gintleman, the boy of the oulden time.
The Old and New Cantab.
There’s a fine old song for fine old gents, with fine old wine elate,
Of a fine old, etcetera—the rest I needn’t state;
And Punch unto that fine old air new-fashioned words would mate,
Of the fine old Cantab as he was before this change of late—
The fine old Cantab as he was, all in the olden time!
His rooms their range of ballet-girls and running-horses showed,