Classic Poem

You might have borne three hundred pieces? True.
But, if you had, could any bear with you?
Why, little book, of brevity complain?
It saves a waste of paper: that's a gain;
The scribe needs but a single hour, and then
To weightier books may turn his busy pen:
A reader too more easily may brook
The flaws and blunders of a tiny book;
For at a banquet he could read you through,
Ere the mulled wine should cool, so short are you.
Yet though by brevity success you court,
Many will find you long, however short.