Classic Poem

When, Asinius, with mirth, and good wine, you're elate;
You employ your left hand with a freedom too great;
For let any one careless his head turn away,
In a trice on his napkin your fingers you lay.
Do you think this is wit?—silly boy, not to know
How unworthy this trick, how indecently low!
You doubt me? if so, trust to Pollio your brother;
Who, could he but shift your mean frauds to another,
Would bestow in exchange a whole talent at least:
Yet what youth better knows how to laugh, or to jest?
Then without further trouble my napkin restore,
Or expect me to send you lampoons by the score.
Not on worth that's intrinsic its merit depends,
But a keep-sake it was from some intimate friends;
For Fabullus, Verannius, in Spain having met,
Of Setabian fine napkins they sent me a set:
Then of course highly valued the present must be;
As Verannius, Fabullus are valued by me.