Classic Poem

I BEG you give me of your treasure,
Part of an hour when you're at leisure,
And while you read these trifles light
A debit in your ledger write.
" 'Tis hard my holiday to spoil"
Nay, prithee friend, endure the toil.
For if Secundus too will read
This little booklet, then indeed —
— I hope I don't presume too much —
'Twill owe it to your critic touch
That I, like Sisyphus in pain,
Shall not find all my trouble vain,
To you indebted more than me
And free from all anxiety,
When yours and wise Secundus' file
Has chastened its defects of style.