I can picture the smile of pitying contempt with which such a preposterous question would have been met.

And I observe by the figures noted at the back of this poem that it received very few marks short of the highest award.
Number 6 posed as democratic poet, who appealed to the ear of the populace in terms to which they are best accustomed.
'Twas a lovely day in August, at the top of Ludgate Hill I met a gay young couple, and I think I see them still; They were drinking at the fountain to cool their parching lips, And they said to one another, looking up between their sips-- _Chorus_--I'd sooner have it hot, love; I'd rather have it hot; It's nicer with the chill off--much nicer, is it not?
They took a four-wheel growler for a drive all round the town, And told the knowing cabby not to let his _gee-gee_ down; But they'd scarcely got to Fleet Street when their off-hind-wheel went bang, And they pitched on to the kerb-stone, while the crowd around them sang-- _Chorus_--I'm glad you've got it hot, love; I'm pleased you've got it hot; It's nicer with the chill off--much nicer, is it not?
Moral.
Now all you gay young couples, list to my fond appeal, Beware of four-wheel growlers with spokes in their off-hind-wheel; And when you go up Ludgate Hill, all on a summer day, Don't drink much at the fountain; or if you do, I say-- Be sure and take it hot, love; be sure and take it hot; It's nicer with the chill off--much nicer, is it not?
This poem was not highly marked, although Number 6 confessed he had sat up all night writing it.

He thought we had missed the underlying philosophy of his version, and was sorry for it.

As he said, the first essential of a poem is that it should be read, and he believed no one could deny that he had at least written up to that requirement.
There was a more serious moral hidden in Number 7's version, which was stated to be on the models of the early sonnets:-- Two lovers on one common errand bound, One common fate o'erwhelms; and so, me-seems, A fable have we of our daily round, Who in these groves of learning here are found Climbing Parnassus' slopes.

Our aim is one, And one the path by which we strive to soar; Yet, truer still, or ere the prize be won, A common ruin hurls us to our doom.
'Twere best we parted, you and I; so, Fate, Baulked of her double prey, may seek in vain, And miss us both upon the shadowy plain.
The writer of Number 8 I always suspected of being a borrower of other people's ideas.