THE SCHOLAR TIPSY

BY CHRISTOPHER HOLLIS

Go, for they call you, Sparrow, from the Hall.

Go, Sparrow, and collect your promised votes.

The traffic makes life hideous in the High, And all the bawling Fellows turn their coats.

What boots it, if this Establishment should die?

For us the good of all.

Bid the cars park beyond the Iffley Ridge.

No petrol must pollute a dreaming spire.

The Meadows Road is what All Souls require.

Come, Sparrow, put the lock on Magdalen Bridge.

Lo, near me on the desk lies Coghill's boast— Clever, All Souls opine, but slightly slick—

Explaining things might easily be worse And the new Outer Road may do the trick.

The heavy lorry traffic is the curse, Through-travelling to the coast.

What easier than that lorry-drivers blithe

Leave the warm Cowley Road beyond the Height—

By-pass the don-kissed city on the right, Recross the stripling Thames near Bablock Hythe?

At night men say that Fellows of St. John's, Students of Christ Church and a motley crew, All lovers of the Meadows and the Parks, Bound with an oath that they will die or do, Join with some gay but non-collegiate sparks

And several other Dons—

Slink out where plots are made and tongues can wag, Dowsing the festal lights in Christ Church Hall,

In hats of antique shape—if hats at all—

To the bar parlour of the Lamb and Flag.

And each in turn takes up dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne

Mid the live murmur of a Dons' intrigue—

What Bowra says and what has Cherwell done?

What rat would stand alone?—

The rumour hawked persistently about, The immemorial chitter round the Town, The fear some other Don will do them down, The fear at last that Sandys are running out.