Poem for January 16, 2032

It is very aggravating

To hear the solemn prating

Of the fossils who are stating

That old Horace was a prude;

When we know that with the ladies

He was always raising Hades,

And with many an escapade his

Best productions are imbued.

There's really not much harm in a

Large number of his carmina,

But these people find alarm in a

Few records of his acts;

So they'd squelch the muse caloric,

And to students sophomoric

They d present as metaphoric

What old Horace meant for facts.

We have always thought 'em lazy;

Now we adjudge 'em crazy!

Why, Horace was a daisy

That was very much alive!

And the wisest of us know him

As his Lydia verses show him,--

Go, read that virile poem,--

It is No. 25.

He was a very owl, sir,

And starting out to prowl, sir,

You bet he made Rome howl, sir,

Until he filled his date;

With a massic-laden ditty

And a classic maiden pretty

He painted up the city,

And Maecenas paid the freight!