Classic Poem

For vile greedy tricks Santra beats all creation.
When he hears of a dinner, for his invitation
He angles for weeks, and then hurries off straight
To the banqueting hall lest perchance he be late.
To start with he asks — " seven helpings of boar,"
And snatches some oysters to add to his score:
Then seizes the legs and the wings of a hare,
And lyingly shouts — " I have had no field-fare."
With mouthfuls of cake his soiled napkin he stains
Wherein a small scrap of pomegranate remains,
And raisins and mushrooms, and figs oozing ripe
And a horrible skin from the stuffing of tripe.
When the napkin at last no more fragments can hold
He hides his gnawed bones in his toga's warm fold,
And with them a pigeon devoid of its head,
Nor thinks any harm his hand downward to spread
And gather the pieces the dogs would not eat
And fill up with heel-taps a jar at his feet.
At the end when all's finished up two hundred stairs
With his load on his shoulder he gaily repairs,
And when to his garret he safely has got,
The very next morning — he sells all the lot .