Classic Poem

The utmost grace the Greeks could show,
When to the Trojans they grew kind,
Was with their arms to let 'em go
And leave their lingering wives behind.
They beat the men, and burnt the town:
Then all the baggage was their own.

There the kind deity of wine
Kissed the soft wanton god of love;
This clapped his wings, that pressed his vine,
And their best powers united move;
While each brave Greek embraced his punk,
Lulled her asleep, and then grew drunk.