Classic Poem

How can you endure to sell your poor boys;
Each cost you a thousand, these delicate toys.
Do not their caresses your stubborn heart move,
Their artless complaints, and the signs of their love.
If you want ready money, there's land you can sell,
Your house and your plate, cups and tables as well,
Old slaves of your father's—I'm sure they won't mind—
Nothing matters as long as the boys stay behind.
It was reckless to buy them—that none will deny—
But to sell them would recklessness greater imply.