Classic Poem

W HENE'ER we meet you always say
" When may I send a servant, pray,
To fetch your book? I'll read it through
And straightway send it back to you."
Nay, trouble not your servant, friend,
To Pear-tree Court is far to send,
And one must climb an awkward stair
To reach my third-floor garret there.
No need is there so far to roam,
You'll find the book much nearer home.
You know the place where Argus died?
You often pass it — close beside
Is Caesar's forum, and a stall
By columns marked, on which they scrawl
The names and works of bards, to tell
A passer-by what books they sell.
Here seek my works. You need not stop
To tell the owner of the shop —
By name Atrectus — what you seek;
He'll find you Martial ere you speak;
His top or second pigeon-hole
Is sure to hold a handsome scroll,
Well smoothed and decked with purple dye.
It costs but half a crown to buy.
" So much," you say, " for such a thing?"
You're wise, 'tis not worth borrowing.