Classic Poem

Now to bed will I fly,
And hope there to lie
In comfort and quiet; —
So please not to riot
On my wretched face,
You detestable race,
Whose infamous name
I'm forbid to proclaim;
(Tho' I think it all Fudge,
An implacable judge,
For I owe them a grudge;)
Gnats, midges or fleas,
(Call them whate'er you please)
Their actions declare
That they certainly are
No better than those
Ignoblest of foes,
Who valour do lack
To make the attack
In open daylight; —
So stealing by night,
To murder will creep
The innocent sleep; —
My recent assailants
Are such sorry gallants.
By this morning's light,
The field of the fight
(I mean my poor face,)
Proved them equally base; —
Then I vow in Hate's name,
Whoever may blame,
Since as Bugs they behave
The name they shall have; —
For who handsome does,
To make no more fuss,
Handsome is by my fay!
And vice versa!
This metaphor leaving,
To another now cleaving, —
The day after a feast,
Tho' last, is not least;
Nay, some think it best,
When plenty remaining
To stop all complaining,
The savory treat
We hungrily eat
With comfort and glee
Sans ceremonie.
Now I earnestly hope
The gourmands who grope
Thro guilt, sheet and blanket
At my cost to banquet
Think not in this fashion
But have moderation,
Nor mean to renew,
Insatiable crew!
Their revellings too —
Their gluttonous theft,
Of conscience bereft,
On that which is left
From last night's debauch,
Which alas! is not much!
In this case I wot
Must pay scot and lot;
And therefore most humbly their plundered host begs,
They'll consider there's reason in roasting of eggs!