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Morse
Whan that fall, with his shoures soote/Vic'tries for Morse hath perced to the roote/And bathed every veyne in swich licour/Of which athleticism engendred is the flour/Whan Master Wheeler, our courageous chief/Inspired his college in every holt and heeth/The tendre freshman and the fellow's son/Hath in their efforts 524 points won/And IM secretaries maken melodye/That this winter others watch with open eye/(So we encourage our teams in hir corages);/Thanne trips to Lanman made like pilgrimages/Neo-palmeres for to seken a straunge Tyng Cup/To near halwes, kowthe to take the stairs up/And specially from every entryway's ende/Of Morse College, to Payne Whitney they wende/The hooly blisful competitors for this season/That hem hath holpen, whan that they needn't better reason.
(Compiled by Roland T. Flakfizer and Rocco Melonchek.)
All materials © 1999 The Yale Herald, Inc., and its staff.
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