Classic Poem

T HERE'S nothing Selius will not do or dare
Rather than sup at home on meagre fare;
He haunts the running-ground and swears 'tis true
That swift Achilles never ran like you,
Paulinus; failing him he next may go
And take his chance at Jason's portico.
That too is blank, so off to Isis' shrine —
Some courtesan may take him home to dine.
Failure once more! Well, Pompey's porch may do,
Or, should that fail, perhaps his avenue:
He hurries next to Faustus' baths and then
To Lupus' and to Gryllus' murky den.
Still no success! He bathes three times and more —
Heaven sends no better fortune than before.
So back he goes to spy if anyone
Perchance is basking in the evening sun
About Europa's porch and leafy bower —
There's just a chance of one tho' late the hour.
O amorous bull, pray pity Selius' plight,
And make him dine with you in heaven to-night.