Will you be taking sherry tonight
In Lincoln’s Inn Fields with your peers,
Or slipping softly dejected away,
Confirmed in those deep-seated fears?
The old marbled hallway was crowded,
With candidates whose pulses race,
They await the results from the Beadle
Who taps on the floor with his mace.
“The final exams for Membership…
Were completed this afternoon,
And those who have passed, as I call your name,
Will ascend upstairs to the room.”
In the hush we all listened intently,
You couldn’t hear a foot fall,
“If called you will assemble,
With the dignitaries in the Great Hall.”
It was there the tradition continued,
With the hand shakes you join the ranks
Of the Royal College of Surgeons,
And sipping on sherry give thanks.