Classic Poem

For a slave you will pay a cool thousand, or double;
For a cup forty pounds: to pay gives you no trouble.
King Numa laid down the choice wine that you drink;
Your furniture cost you ten thousand, I think.
For the price of your carriage a farm you might own;
Your hackney is worth a fine mansion in town.
You imagine that taste just depends on your purse:
But the truth is, my friend, it is just the reverse.