Lucas Maddalena with permission for Varsity

With thanks to Clement Clarke Moore.

‘Twas the night before C-Sunday, when all through the town,  

Not a student was stirring, nor fellow in gown;  

The beers were piled high in rooms with such care,  

The Mainsburies shelves empty, not a Fosters left spare.  


Freshers were nestled all snug in their beds, 

While hopes of revelry danced in their heads;  

And Master in his dressing gown, and Dean in her nightie,  

Were just settling into a slumber so mighty,  


When out in First Court there arose a great clatter,  

Master springing from bed to study the matter.  

Out of his lodge he flew like a flash,  

Knocking over his brandy with an incredible splash.  


The moon on the water gave off a slight shimmer  

And drew the Master’s sight off to the river. 

When, what should attract his attention so late 

But an oversized cox at the head of an eight.  


With a cheerful old driver, clearly a geezer,  

He knew in moment it must be Old Man Caesar 

And heaving and panting his oarsmen they came,  

And he belched, and jeered, and called them by name; 


"Now, WYVERN! now, SQUIRE! now, HARLOT and NUN! 


To the top of the green! For its time for a brawl! 

Now row away! drink away! vom away all!"  


Though drinkers and social, the oarsmen were clever,  

And turned their attention to nautical endeavour,  

So up past the college, to the green they flew, 

With a boat full of lagers, and Old Man Caesar too.  


And then, all a sudden, the Master heard from the hall  

The sound of cavorting, quite like a May Ball,  

He strode there with purpose, and opened the door,  

To see Old Man Caesar, collapsed on the floor.  


He was dressed all in tweed, from his head to his foot, 

And his lovely old tie tarnished with cigarette soot; 

A sack full of spirits he had by his side, 

He was vast in dimension, a full five kegs wide. 


His eyes – they were clouded but his dimples were merry! 

His cheeks were like roses, his breath smelled of sherry! 

Through his thick beard, gleamed tobacco-stained teeth,  

And around his fat neck he wore a cork wreath;  


A thick pink elf bar was held in his gob, 

And heavy clouds of vapour were circling the blob. 

He had curled silver hair, and a big rotund belly,  

Afflicted with IBS, being near him was smelly.  


Old Man Caesar passed out and out of place,  

Made the Master concerned and begin to pace, 

But a hackneyed sputter came from lungs of old Caesar,  

Eyes opening to attention, to his lips he put a wheezer.  


He leapt to his feet, and out of hall he did bound,  

Throwing ales and ciders all over the grounds. 

And once the whole college was littered with booze,  

He smiled to himself, contented and amused.  

Springing to his boat, giving his oarsmen direction, 

away they all flew, a most rapid ejection. 


Mountain View

The five people you’ll meet this C-Sunday

But to all of Cam shouted, ere he was rowed out of sight,