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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 66 pages of information about Sagittulae, Random Verses.
within
      their heart’s rejoice,
  As they listened to the music of that deep and
      mellow voice. 
  Ah! ’tis well, to sing of boating, when before
      my swimming eyes
  Baleful visions of the future, woes unutterable rise. 
  All our palmy days are over; for the fairer, feebler sex
  Has determined every College in succession to annex;
  And before another decade has elapsed, our eyes shall see
  College Tutors wearing thimbles o’er convivial cups of tea. 
  For ‘golden-haired girl-graduates,’ with ’Dowagers
      for Dons,’
  Shall tyrannize in Trinity, and domineer in ‘John’s.’ 
  Then, instead of May Term races in the science grand
      of rowing,
  There’ll be constant competition in the subtle art
      of sewing. 
  Soon the modern undergraduate, with a feather in her hat,
  Shall parade the streets of Cambridge, followed
      by her faithful cat. 
  From Parker’s Piece and Former’s shall be banished
      bat and wicket,
  For crotchet work and knitting shall supplant the
      game of cricket,
  Save whene’er a match at croquet once a Term is
      played at Girton
  By the Members of “the College” and the Moralists
      of Merton. 
  Then no tandems shall be driven, and no more
      athletic sports,
  Save fancy balls and dances, shall appear in
      “Field” reports: 
  And instead of ‘pots’ and ‘pewters’ to promote
      the art of walking,
  We shall have a silver medal for proficiency in talking. 
  Wranglers fair shall daily wrangle, who no
      Mathematics ken;
  Lady preachers fill the pulpit, lady critics
      wield the pen. 
  O ye gallant, gallant heroes who the River’s
      head have won,
  Little know ye what an era of confusion hath begun. 
  I myself shall flee from Cambridge, sick at heart
      and sorely vexed,
  Ere I see my University disestablished and unsexed.’”
  Thus she spake, and I endeavoured to console the
      weeping Muse: 
  “Dry your tears, beloved Clio, drive away this
      fit of blues. 
  Cease your soul with gloomy fancies and forebodings
      to perplex;
  You are doing gross injustice to the merits of your sex. 
  Know you not that things are changing, that the
      Earth regains her youth,
  Since Philosophers have brought to light the one
      primeval truth? 
  Long have all things been misgoverned by the
      foolish race of men,
  Who’ve monopolized sword, sceptre, mitre, ermine,
      spade, and pen,
  All the failures, all the follies, that the weary
      world bewails,
  Have arisen, trust me, simply from the government of males. 
  But a brighter age is dawning; in the circling of the years
  Lordly woman sees before her new ‘ambitions,’ new careers;
  For the world’s regeneration instantaneously began,
  When Philosophers discovered the inferior
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