Shut these odious books up, brother; <br />They have made you quite another <br />Thing from what you used to be: <br />Once you liked to play with me, <br />Now you leave me all alone, <br />And are so conceited grown <br />With your Latin, you'll scarce look <br />Upon any English book. <br />We had used on winter eves <br />To con over Shakespeare's leaves, <br />Or on Milton's harder sense <br />Exercise our diligence- <br />And you would explain with ease <br />The obscurer passages, <br />Find me out the prettiest places, <br />The poetic turns, and graces, <br />Which, alas! now you are gone, <br />I must puzzle out alone, <br />And oft miss the meaning quite, <br />Wanting you to set me right. <br />All this comes since you've been under <br />Your new master. I much wonder <br />What great charm it is you see <br />In those words, musa, musæ; <br />Or in what they do excel <br />Our word, song. It sounds as well <br />To my fancy as the other. <br />Now believe me, dearest brother, <br />I would give my finest frock, <br />And my cabinet, and stock <br />Of new playthings, every toy, <br />I would give them all with joy <br />Could I you returning see <br />Back to English and to me.<br /><br />Charles Lamb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sister-s-expostulation-on-the-brother-s-learning-latin/
