Classic Poem

If I did not this morning deserve your " good day,"
May your Esquiline house be still further away.
But I by the Tiburtine column reside,
Where the temple of Flora has Jove by its side,
And thence from Suburra the steep hill I climb,
The path dirty stones and all reeking with grime,
Where it's no easy matter to get through a drove
Of mules pulling hard as the marble they move,
And what is much worse, when at last I have come,
Worn out to your house, all I get's — " Not at home."
That is all my reward for a walk in the rain,
And it's scarce worth the trouble this journey in vain.
You're so busy yourself your friends on you can't wait:
So you won't be my patron unless you sleep late.