Classic Poem

Antony,
Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once
Was beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pasa, consuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow, whom thou fought'st against,
Thou daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer. Thou didst drink
The stale of horses and the gilded puddle
Which beasts would cough at. Thy palate then did deign
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge.
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou browsed. On the Alps
It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on. I, iv
It wounds thine honor that I speak it now--
Was borne so like a soldier that thy cheek
So much as lanked not.