Classic Poem

I TOOK to Epic; you began it too;
I ceased, because I would not vie with you.
The tragic buskin then my Muse puts on;
Forthwith the robe of tragedy you don.
I thought to tune the sweet Horatian lyre;
You snatched the plectrum, seized with like desire.
Satire I tried; then Satire was your aim.
I sang light elegies; you did the same.
I sought with simple epigrams to charm;
And you would rob me of my humble palm.
Pray curb this greed; say what you don't affect,
And leave to me one style that you reject!

M USAEI pathicissimos libellos,
Qui certant Sybariticis libellis,
Et tinctas sale pruriente chartas
Instanti lege Rufe; sed puella
Sit tecum tua, ne thalassionem
Indicas manibus libidinosis
Et fias sine femina maritus.