Classic Poem

Not wolves and lambs, by stronger fate
Than thou and I each other hate;
O hamper'd with th'Iberian cord!
And galling fetters of thy lord!
What tho' you strut puff'd up with pelf,
That cannot change thy servile self.
As on the sacred way you sweep,
With flowing robes full six ells deep;
Ingenuous scorn do you not trace,
In crowds that turn away their face!
" That wretch, corrected to the quick,
Until the officer was sick;
E'en he retains, in his own hand, —
A thousand rood, — Falernian land; —
And on the Appian road proceeds,
Which he wears out with gallant steeds;
And sits the first at any fight,
In spite of Otho, as a knight.
Wherefore so many beaks of brass,
And heavy hulks do we amass,
'Gainst pyrates, and the servile band,
With such a fellow in command!"