Classic Poem

Little book, when to Caesius Sabinus you come,
The bright shining star of his Umbrian home,
With friend Aulus Pudens, his townsman so true,
Even though he be busy he'll find time for you.
A thousand distractions may fill him with care,
But for my poor verses some hours he will spare;
For he loves to peruse them, and gives them their station
Second only to Turnus in his estimation.
What glory and fame you are going to win,
How many a lover will call you within.
Every banquet and market will echo your praise,
Shops, houses, and porches, and little byways.
You are sent to one man, but as soon as you're known.
You'll be read, let me tell you, all over the town.

S O may you see the Thunderer always kind
And Rome as loving as your Egypt find.
If my poor books you in the Palace hear —
For they are wont to amuse the Emperor's ear —
Venture to say — as fits a candid friend —
" He too some honour to this age doth lend.
Not Marsus nor Catullus him outshine"
'Twill be enough. I trust our Lord divine.