Classic Poem

Though I am poor and always have been so,
A Knight am I and honour can I claim.
Men say, " 'Tis Martial" wheresoever I go,
Few, after death, have won so great a name.
Upon your pillared palace hangs your fame.
Your coffers — since your master made you free —
Have bulged with growing wealth; you hold in fee
Half Egypt, own vast flocks in Gaul afar.
Yet what I am that you can never be,
While any clown might well be what you are.