Classic Poem

When poor, a lordly coach and six
Conveyed you everywhere;
Then you became by fortune's tricks
A multi-millionaire.

But though she gave that bulging purse
And blindly bade you thrive,
Your former habits you reverse
And ‘can't afford to drive.’

'Tis plain such simple manners earn
Reward and not reproach.
I'll pray the gods in just return
To give you back your coach.