Classic Poem

Because a witty writer of this time
Doth make some mention in a pleasant rhyme
Of Lepidus and of his famous dog,
Thou, Momus, that dost love to scoff and cog,
Prat'st amongst base companions, and giv'st out
That unto me herein is meant a flout.
Hate makes thee blind, Momus, I dare be sworn,
He meant to me his love, to thee his scorn;
Put on thy envious spectacles and see
Whom doth he scorn therein—the dog or me.
The dog is graced, comparèd with great Banks,
Both beasts right famous for their pretty pranks;
Although in this I grant the dog was worse,
He only fed my pleasure, not my purse;
Yet that same dog, I may say this and boast it,
He found my purse with gold when I have lost it.
Now for myself, some fools (like thee) may judge
That at the name of Lepidus I grudge;
No, sure; so far I think it from disgrace,
I wished it clear to me and to my race.
Lepus or Lepos, I in both have part,
That in my name I bear, this in mine heart.
But, Momus, I persuade myself that no man
Will deign thee such a name, English or Roman.
I'll wage a butt of sack, the best in Bristo,
Who calls me Lepid, I will call him Tristo.