Classic Poem

Tibullus, whom I love and praise,
Mild judge of my prosaic lays,
Can I account for your odd turn,
Who in Pedanian groves sojourn:
Are you now writing to out-please
The works of Cassius, or at ease,
And silence, range the healthy wood,
Studious of all things wise and good?
Thou'rt not a form without a heart,
For heav'n was gracious to impart
A goodly person, fine estate,
Made for fruition, fortunate.
What more for her most fav'rite boy,
Cou'd a nurse image, to enjoy,
Than to be wise, and ably taught,
To speak aloud his noble thought,
To whom grace, fame, and body sound,
Might to pre-eminence abound,
With table of ingenious fare,
And purse with money still to spare?
— 'Twixt hope and care, 'twixt fear and strife,
Think every day the last of life.
Beyond your wish some happy day
Shall come your grief to over-pay.
Me sleek and fat, as fat can be,
I hope you'll shortly come to see:
When you've a mind to laugh indeed
At pigs of the Lucretian breed.