THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN
119
Auu:—Double, double toil and trouble
Scrap-heap burn, and ashes bubble.
Enter Freshman.
FREsHMAN:—Q, well done, I commend your pains,
And every-one will share i’ the gains.
And now about the scrap-heap sing,
Like elves and witches in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in.
Music and a Song, “Black Critics.”
Freshman retires.
Seconp Senrior:—By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something fiercely this way comes.
Open locks
Whoever knocks.
Enter Carenus.
CarENus:—How now, you secret, black 1911? What is ’t you do?
Auu:—A deed without a name.
CareNvus:—I conjure you, by that which you’re “professed,”
Howe’er you come to know it, answer me;
Though you out-step all bounds, and seek to make
A game which all the colleges accept,
Though you make rules which prep-schools gladly play,
E’en till destruction threaten, answer me
To what I ask you.
First Senror:—Speak.
SEeconD SENIOR:—Demand.
Turrp Senior:—We'll answer.
First Sentor:—Say, if thou ‘dst rather hear it from our mouths
Or from our masters.
CARENUS:—Call ’em; let me see ’em.
A.Lt:—Come, high, or low;
Thyself and office deftly show.
