Classic Poem

That fellow who holds all those books in his hand.
Surrounded by clerks in a chattering band,
Who at every long brief and full note-book looks dully,
A Cato forsooth or a Brutus or Tully;
Though you tortured him hard you could not make him speak,
Or give you " good morning" in Latin or Greek.
Do you think that with truth I am rather too free? —
Well, let's go and greet him, and then you will see.