Classic Poem

You understand the quips, the gay retort,
And I pervert my Muse to make you sport,
But when you read and quote my verses, pray
Think of the wealth that might be mine to-day,
Had I but sold my tongue to plead in court;
What client's fees, what gifts I might extort,
What casks of wine from many a foreign port;
But this I lost to frolic in a way
You understand.

I jest for no reward; must I exhort
You further? Well, was fame the only sort
Of fee that singers won in Maro's day?
" We love your verse and give you praise," you say.
That all? Then I must plead, unless — in short
You understand?