Classic Poem

It is not yet eleven, and yet you have come
Prepared to dine with me in my humble home.
The courts have just finished the first morning session,
And at Flora's games now 'tis the hunter's procession.
Well, well! Call the boys — they had gone up the town
To bathe — spread the couches: my dear friend, sit down.
" Warm water" — you say nay, the cold's not here yet,
The stove has gone out, and the kitchen's all wet.
Come another time sooner and don't till noon wait:
For dinner you're early, for breakfast you're late.