57517: A Rhymed Epistle To E. L. G.

<p dir="ltr"> 'Heigh ho! Howe dothe old Tyme gallop.'<br> Bacon, Promus<br> Stanza I <br> My honoured cousin,<br> I'll not dwell<br> Longtime upon your verse (so well<br> Conceived) yet I am bound to tell<br> How after many a patient puff,<br> And later, many an angry snuff,<br> I got into a regular huff<br> That you had never written<br> To say how badly bitten<br> You were by your exam,<br> Or else how well you'd smitten<br> The Oxford-Senior Witan<br> By letting off your cram.<br> However ...;<br> So clever,<br> So well selected,<br> And so unexpected<br> Was this your happy rime<br> It makes amend<br> For lapse of time,<br> So here I end,<br> My chiding chime.<br> Canto II <br>... 'Is it physical To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours Of the dank morning?'<br> Cool-as a Cheeser, Bacon<br> I will no more than mention<br> The Keswick grand convention<br> Such speech would be amiss<br> In such a thing as this.<br> What I can best remember<br> Of Keswick was the Camp<br> Pitched in a field as damp<br> As gutters in December.<br> We woke at six or thereabouts;<br> We woke to find our inner clouts<br> As moist as Caustic Soda;<br> To find our tent, a bell-tent,<br> A very bell-jar, feculent<br> With CO2</p>