Classic Poem

Was not the girl, you now embrace,
Devoid of elegance, and grace;
Flavius would to Catullus tell
Those loves, he could not long conceal:
But my good friend, I'm much afraid,
To some hot-blooded, vulgar jade,
Some wanton, he must blush to name,
Now flies, to quench his am'rous flame:
For know; thy couch, beyond dispute,
That now remains no longer mute,
That now so clamorous is grown,
Proclaims you do not lie alone:
Too well the Syrian oil's perfume;
The flow'ry wreaths, that scent thy room;
The creakings of thy tell-tale bed;
The twofold print, you both have made,
With equal pressure, here and there;
A partner of the night declare:
Did not some worthless wench prevail,
To me thou wouldst thy bliss reveal;
So lank thy sides, who does not guess
At thy absurd, thy loose excess!
But whatsoe'er thy mistress be,
Or fair, or foul, impart to me,
Who, in gay numbers to the skies
Would lift thee, Flavius, and thy joys.