Where art thou, learned Whewell?
Thy “euge!” haste and utter;
If tired of giving freshmen gruel,
Come give the Prince fresh butter.
If all be true that Cantabs state,
Thy cant-ability is great.
Come, meek of speech, and bland of style,
Come, smile as thou wert wont to smile.
At fairs, you know, for hats they grin,
But here for mitres—come begin,