Classic Poem

You say you're my friend, but you never will lend
E'en a trifle: it's always ‘No, No’!
Your coffers are brimming, your Nile-fields are swimming
With plenty, while I hungry go.
When winter draws nigh do you ever supply
Me with gown, or a fat present make?
No proof can I find of your friendship but wind:
And that in my face you will break.