Queen Cram went straying Where Tait was swaying, In just hands weighing, With care immense, Dry proofs made pleasant By Routh or Besant For one who hasn?t Got too much sense. Nor marked how, quicker Than mounts the liquor In brains made thicker By College beer, The murderous maiden, Mistake, walks laden With tips forgotten and slips so queer. How, like a spider, She still spreads wider, O?er bookwork, rider, And problem too, Her flimsy curtain Of terms uncertain, Till all seems dirt in The marker?s view. For if Cram were not, Which markers spare not, Wise men would care not To pluck too soon, Seeing all life?s season Of budding reason Finds good stiff work for a wooden spoon. As Tait sat joking, And marked while smoking, Still slyly poking Where jests might hit, She came, soft-gliding, Her false face hiding, Rich food providing For Tait?s sharp wit. Through symbols tangled, The Wranglers wrangled Like sweet bells jangled And out of tune. For though their music Would soon make you sick The tides they measure and guide the moon. Cram found no cover Wherein to hover, For still above her Tait held his pen, Which, onward creeping, Might find her sleeping, But left her weeping O?er ruined men. For, like a blister, Mistake, Cram?s sister, Would wring and twist her In awkward ways, Till all the knowledge Acquired at College Had passed from thought(49) in the last six days.