Classic Poem

This cloak that on Sequanian looms was born,
A gift right welcome on a winter's morn,
I send you now; in Sparta it is famed,
Though it be rough, and endromis is named.
Whether well-oiled you wrestle in the lists,
Or punch the light-stuffed ball with eager fists,

Or in the dust the flying bladder chase,
Or seek to conquer Athas in the race,
'Twill serve to keep the cold from heated limbs
And save you from the rainstorm's sudden whims.
Your Tyrian muslins are but shelter vain;
Clad in this gift you'll laugh at wind and rain.