106
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN
I went into a neighbour’s room as jolly as could be,
She gave a greasy grind a place, but ’adn’t none for me;
She sent me to my corridor or round the ’owlin’ ’alls,
But when it comes to hushin’, Lord! she’ll shove me where’s the bawls.
It’s Proctor this, an’ Proctor that, an’ “Proctor, quit your scream,”
But it’s ““Do shut up those Freshmen,” when Miss Crandall wants a theme—
When Miss Crandall wants a theme, my lass, when Miss Crandall wants a theme,
It’s “Do shut up those Freshmen,” when Miss Crandall wants a theme.
Yes, makin’ mock o’ library procs that guard you when you sleep,
Is easier far than chasin’ birds off them gilt rafters steep;
And laughin’ at her efforts when she’s guardin’ of the ca’m
Is five times easier business than attendin’ to your cram.
Then it’s Hoby this, an’ Hoby that, an’ ‘‘Hob’s eternal croak,”
But it’s “Where on earth’s the Proctor?” when the library’s peace is broke—
When the library’s peace is broke, my lass, when the library’s peace is broke,
O it’s ‘““Where on earth’s the Proctor?” when the library’s peace is broke.
We aren’t no guardian angels, nor we aren’t no killjoys, too,
But just zpso facto members, most remarkable like you;
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints,
Why, proctors of Self Gov. don’t grow into plaster saints.
While it’s Quiet this, an’ Quiet that, an’ “Quiet sure’s a blight,”’
But it’s “‘Please to hush your cor’dor,” when mid-years heaves in sight—
When mid-years heaves in sight, my lass, when mid-years heaves in sight,
O it’s ‘Please to hush your cor’dor,” when mid-years heaves in sight.
MarGARET JEFFERYS HOBART.
