Classic Poem

Of consuls you have seen quite fifteen score,
Of hairs you've three, of teeth you've only four,
Grasshopper's breast, ant's legs and colour pale,
Forehead more wrinkled than a woman's veil.
Your breasts hang loose as spiders' webs, the while
Your mouth gapes open like a crocodile.
Ravenna's frogs and gnats may be no joke
But they are more agreeable than your croak.
An owl in daylight can see just as well,
A he-goat has a more attractive smell,
Your back should to a skinny duck belong,
Your front a Cynic even finds too strong.
The bathman has to put his lantern out
Ere you can join the drabs who roam about
The tombs at night in search of some stray lover.
For you in August winter's still not over,
And even fever cannot now suffice
To warm your limbs and melt your ancient ice.
But yet you yearn for marriage, I am told,
After two hundred trials and are bold
Enough to think a man will feel desire
For your cold ashes and your burnt-out fire.
Bid such a one the solid rock to hoe;
For how could you your wifely duties do,
When you as " grandmother" are now addressed?
Nay, if you want your shaking limbs caressed,
Go, get a bedstead from the realms beneath
And let your bridegroom be the Lord of Death,
While body-burners tend the new-made bride
And with their torches warm your wrinkled side.