Classic Poem

There is a restless mortal who
Feeds on himself, and eats for two.
Heartburn all day and night he feels
And never tries to walk but reels.
Boy! on the table set the taper
And bring your lucifer; this paper
I must without delay set fire on
Or folks may fancy I mean Byron.
Be petty larcenies forgiven,
The fire he stole was not from heaven.