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!