Classic Poem

On rainy days alone I dine,
Upon a chick, and pint of wine.
On rainy days, I dine alone,
And pick my chicken to the bone:
But this my servants much enrages,
No scraps remain to save board-wages.
In weather fine I nothing spend,
But often sponge upon a friend:
Yet where he's not so rich as I;
I pay my club, and so God b' y'--