JUST ARGUMENT. UNJUST ARGUMENT J.A. Now hear the old Rule, Of instruction at school, -- I'll tell you the way it was done, sir; When, with morals at par, It still paid me to air The good and the right as a preacher. First of all, not a boy Was allowed to annoy With a sound from his mouth, never one, sir! But sober and solemn Our parish's column Of lads for the local lute-teacher Without coats on would go Through the streets, though the snow Might be snowing as thickly as bran there; And he'd see to each learning The song without turning His backside too near the next man there. They would learn simple ditties: 'The sacker of cities, Great Pallas', or 'Echoed a far cry . . .' Some classic passed on From father to son, Pitched high as a Dorian war-cry. No play to the gallery! No Phrynis' fallalery Of twisting the tongue round a trill! For all such abuses That murder the Muses We'd beat them and beat with a will! U.A. If you let him persuade you, My boy, I'm afraid you Will be -- bear me out Dionysus! -- Like Hippocrates' sons, -- It's a sucker, a dunce, You'll be nicknamed, and that won't surprise us! J.A. Well, I think, you'll be found On the Track or the Ground, And bright fit and busy all day, sir! Not like moderns be mouthing An ultra-sharp nothing Of wit on the boulevards paraded; Nor stand, brought to book By a slick-mannered crook Who quibbles your credit away, sir! No sir, you will go Where in Academe grow The worshipful trees colonnaded, Running lap after lap With some sensible chap Of your age, till you finish your measure; On your brow there will shine The rushes you twine, And a savour of let-live and leisure The catkins descending With bryony blending In fragrance around you be wreathing; And you'll laugh in the prime Of the fresh spring-time When the plane to the elm-tree is breathing. |