To taste the fresh Pierian springs,
To see Catullus scorch his wings
With the fierce flame that sears and stings—
For this I thank thee, Loeb.
I've made no fortune out of beer;
I'm not a plutocrat or peer,
Nor yet a bloated profiteer,
An OM or e'en an OBE;
But if I'd thirty pounds to spare
I'd go and blow them then and there