So says the oracle, and, for myself, I
Must say it beats to fits the one at Delphi!
To save beloved Oxford from the yoke,
(For this majority's beyond a joke),
We must combine,
aye! hold a caucus-meeting,
Unless we want to get another beating.
That they should “bottle” us is nothing new—
But shall they bottle us and caucus too?
See the “fell unity of purpose” now
With which Obstructives plunge into the row!
“Factious Minorities,” we used to sigh—
“Factious Majorities” is now the cry.
“Votes—ninety-two”—no combination here:
“Votes—ninety-three”—conspiracy, 'tis clear!
You urge “'Tis but a unit.” I reply
That in that unit lurks their “unity.”
Our voters often bolt, and often baulk us,
But then, they never, never go to caucus!
Our voters can't forget the maxim famous
“Semel electum semper eligamus”:
They never can be worked into a ferment
By visionary promise of preferment,
Nor taught, by hints of “Paradise”
beguiled,
To whisper “C for Chairman” like a child!
And thus the friends that we have tempted down
Oft take the two-o'clock Express for town.
This is our danger: this the secret foe
That aims at Oxford such a deadly blow.
What champion can we find to save the State,
To crush the plot? We darkly whisper “Wait!”
My scheme is this: remove the votes of all
The residents that are not Liberal—
Leave the young Tutors uncontrolled and free,
And Oxford then shall see—what it shall see.
What next? Why then, I say, let Convocation
Be shorn of all her powers of legislation.
But why stop there? Let us go boldly on—
Sweep everything beginning with a “Con”
Into oblivion! Convocation first,
Conservatism next, and, last and worst,
“Concilium Hebdomadale” must,
Consumed and conquered, be consigned to dust!