Classic Poem

Y OU'VE not got three thousand, my friend, so make haste;
Liitus is coming, you've no time to waste.
Up quick, run away: or perhaps some kind friend
To you of his superabundance will lend.
Whom now shall I put on the record of glory,
So that after his death men may still read his story?
Would not this be true virtue and far better done
Than to make all the theatre with red saffron run.
Or to give the three thousand to some senseless gee
That Scorpus his nose all of gold we may see?
Dissemblers of friendship! Your wealth you won't use,
Though you read this and praise it. What glory you lose!