Classic Poem

You cry, whene'er you meet me still,
" I'll send my boy, an" if you will,
To whom perhaps you'll kindly lend
Your Epigrams , and these, my friend,
I'll send you, when I've read them through."
No need, good sir, no need that you
Should tire your boy; 'tis far and high,
My three-pair garret, near the sky.
And, for my books, at hand you'll meet 'em.
You often stroll in Argiletum?
Well, there you'll find a shop in face
Of the Imperial Marketplace.
The new books' names are on the doors,
And poets may be read in scores.
There ask Attrectus — that is he
Who keeps the shop — to sell you me .
He'll give, from first or second shelf —
Polished and purple-clad — myself!
Martial for fivepence! " Dear, in sooth!"
Perhaps, my friend, you speak the truth.