Classic Poem

Each morn you tell some evil dream you've had
About me, till you drive me nearly mad;
To charms I have resorted to divine
The omen; that has used up all my wine,
My salted meal, whole mounds of frankincense,
And half my flocks and herds — a vain expense.
Pigs, fowls, and eggs are gone; for mercy's sake
Do dream about yourself — or stay awake.