Classic Poem

Wise Socrates had built a farm,
Little, convenient, snug, and warm,
Secur'd from rain and wind:
A gallant whisper'd in his ear,
‘Shall the great Socrates live here,
To this mean cell confin'd?’
‘The furniture's my chiefest care,’
Replied the sage; ‘here's room to spare,
Sweet sir! for I and you;
When this with faithful friends is fill'd,
An ampler palace I shall build;
Till then this cot must do.’