Tuss McLaughry: "All? I know not what ye call all; but if I played not with 50 of them, I am a bunch of greens; if there were not two or three and 50 upon poor old Dartmouth, then am I no green Redskin."

Should Harvard lose on the Hanover green sward, perish the thought, let no Radcliffe colleen essay the role of Lady Macbeth. T'would be needless to say "Out, dammed spot, out, I say.' One, two; why, then 'tis time to rue 't.--Defeat is dark!"

Ah, 'tis but a game, and should the banner of Green be unfurled Fair Harvard's buildings will not collapse. 'Tis no nuclear fission, no Hiroshima. Nay, no Shakesperian tragedy. The sun will shine as brightly Sunday--Lest perchance should rain come down like Niobe's tears.

'Tis the Eve of All Harlows, and witches, Salem-style perchance, swish about by broommobile. So 'tis meet that Macbeth's witches come down Cambridge way. Three eerie figures meet in the middle of the Harvard camp . . . egad again? Yard. Zounds! 'Tis Kopp, Margarita and Jacunski, magicians all, of the Crimson Clan, meet to devise a potent potion not to the liking of McLaughry.

Witch Kopp: Four times the Crimson cat hath claw'd.

Witch Margarita: Thrice; and once the Holy Cross it scratched.

Witch Jacunski: Harvard cries,--'Tis time, 'tis time.

Kopp: Round about the Crimson go;

In the potion a line we throw--

Backs, who do their running

With great zeal and cunning

Throw'd footballs like shot

Boil thou first i' th' charmed pot.

All: Double Dartmouth trouble;

Fire burn, and Crimson bubble.