At Harvard on the riverside,

And but a minute's flivver-ride

From Chapel, lived the apple

Of a doting mother's eye.

As a gentleman and student,

He was prudish, proud, and prudent,

But his laurels and his morals

Were unquestionably high.

This model of propriety

To safeguard well his piety

From libel, read the Bible

And a bulky book of prayers;

Thereby bringing down derision

And a most unkind decision

On his prudence by the students

For his too religious airs.

Since the Phillips Brooks House quota

Was deficient sadly, nota

Nota bene, that our zany

The lacuna swore to fill.

As a Phillips Brooks collector,

He would badger, dun, and hector,

Till in piety, supply it he

Had done with God's good will.

Yet the steeple-dwelling pigeon,

Although steeped in high religion,

Still will flutter to the gutter

When the grain is being spread.

Now returning was our hero.

With the evening air at zero.

Glowing praises and fine phrases

Had been showered on his head.

When a fellow Brooks House member

Spoke up: "Let's combat December

With a prosit and a posset."

Unaware, the draught he took.

* * *

When he led without sobriety

The Phillips Brooks Society.

His sole reason for such treason:

"Why, a fillip one should brook!"