Classic Poem

Accursed Pedagogue, why plague me so?
Your girls and boys abhor you — and no wonder —
Before the crested cocks begin to crow
Your savage howls and blows resound like thunder.

The clanging figure noisy blacksmiths fit
On a bronze horse with rivet and with hammer,
The howling mob that greets the favourite
In the arena cannot match your clamour.

A broken night is naught: to lie awake
The whole night through is really appalling;
Shut up the school or tell me if you'll take
As much for silence as you get for bawling.