And a fox-brush, meant to indicate that up to hounds he rode;
There at vingt-un or loo he’d sit, until the cocks they crowed,
Nor ever thought of how to pay the various ticks he owed—
This fine old Cantab as he was, all in the olden time!
From Eton or from Harrow he came cramm’d with longs and shorts,
An ambition to drive tandem, and a taste for fruity Ports;
And his hardest work was playing, till he deafened half the Courts,
Concertos on the cornet, in keys of different sorts—
This fine old Cantab as he was, all in the olden time.
As a Freshman he wore sober ties, and gave a Don the wall,