Classic Poem

The subtler forms of flattery shun,
If you would please the man of pelf;
For gold is flat, my child, and won
By flattery flat and like itself.

Then boldly swing the censer rich
Before all sacred Golden Calves,
Beg in the dust and in the ditch,
But see you never praise by halves.

Bread's dear just now and hardly got,
Although the fairest words can still
Be had for nothing—Sing—why not?—
Mecænas' dog, and eat your fill!