And envious Under-graduates sigh forth as we draw near,
“O, crickey! how I wish I was a ‘new-made Bacalere.’
They rise up when they like at morn, they sit up late at e’en,
And hunt and quaff, and smoke and laugh, the whole Term thro’, I ween.”
From Hints to Freshmen. Oxford: J. Vincent.
The Lay of the Lover’s Friend.
I would all womankind were dead,
Or banished o’er the sea;
For they have been a bitter plague