Classic Poem

Fabullus, if the gods agree,
So mightily to favour thee;
Thou shalt, ere many days be spent,
Sup with me to thy heart's content:
But do thyself provide the treat,
Of which we sumptuously may eat;
Bring thy fair mistress, bring thy wine,
Loud laughter, and each jest of thine;
Let these, my merry soul, be sent;
Then sup unto thy heart's content:
For thy poor poet's purse with nought
But spider's worthless webs is fraught.
Thy treats, however, I'll repay
With my most soft, voluptuous lay;
Or, if ought softer, sweeter be,
That shall Catullus give to thee:
Thou shalt have unguents in my song,
Such as to Venus self belong,
Such as the Loves, and Graces shed
O'er the bright ringlets of my maid;
Such as, once smelt to, thou shalt say;
“Make me all nose, ye gods, I pray!”