Enter a Messenger

M. O maiden guardians of this sacred shrine—­

Ch. Observe the rules:  you’ve had your single line.

M. Say, is the Lady Principal at home?

Ch. Thou speak’st, as one for information come.

M. I ask the question, for I wish to know.

Ch. By shrewd conjecture one might guess ’twas so.

M. Go, tell your Lady I would speak with her.

Ch. About what thing? what quest dost thou prefer?

M. I bear a tale I hardly dare to tell.

Ch. Why vex her ears, when ours will do as well?

M. Hear then the facts which with self-seeing eyes
      I witnessed, not receiving from another. 
      For when I came within those doors august
      Where sat the Boule, doubting if to grant
      The boon of honour which the women ask,
      Or not:  and like some Thracian Hellespont
      Tides of opinion flowed in different ways,
      Until obeying some divine decree
      (This is a Nominative Absolute)
      The hollow-bellied circle of a hat
      Received their votes (and now, but not till now,
      Observe my true apodosis begin)—­
      Arithmetic, supreme of sciences,
      Proclaimed that persons to the number of
      One thousand seven hundred and thirteen
      Voted Non-Placet (or, It does not please),
      While thrice two hundred, also sixty-two,
      Voted for Placet on the other side;
      Who, being worsted, come as suppliants
      With boughs and fillets and the rest complete,
      Winging the booted oarage of their feet
      Within your gates:  the obscurantist rout
      Pursue them here with threats, and swear they’ll drag them out! 
      Such is my tale:  its truth should you deny,
      I simply answer, that you tell a lie.

  CHORUS

  Woe!  Woe!  Woe!  Woe!  What shall we do and where shall we go? 
  Dublin or Durham, Heidelberg, Bonn,
  All to escape the recalcitrant don? 
  In what peaceful shade reclined
  Shall the cultured female mind
  E’er remunerated be
  By a Bachelor’s Degree?
  Pheu, pheu! [1] Whence, O whence (here the
        antistrophe ought to commence),
  Whence shall we the privilege seek
  Due to our knowledge of Latin and Greek? 
  Shall we tear our waving locks? 
  Shall we rend our Sunday frocks? 
  No, ’tis plain that nothing can
  Melt the so-called heart of man. 
  While with loud triumphant pealings
  Ring his cries of horrid joy,
  Let us vent our outraged feelings
  In a wild otototoi—­ [2]
  Justifiable impatience, when the shafts of fate annoy,
  Makes one utter exclamations such as ototototoi! [2]

  Enter PROFESSOR PLACET