Classic Poem

I never did eat, yet I'm still at a feast;
I'm rude, yet distinguish a man from a beast.
Close pent up in prison, by closure I'm barred
With a numerous white and sometimes black guard;
Yet freedom I love; and, like fiery gunpowder,
The more I'm confined, I shall break out the louder.
I never was thought very witty at best,
Yet always make one at the end of a jest.
You'd swear by my size that I've naught of ill nature,
Yet my greatest delight's for the most part in satire;
But no more of the matter, lest when you all know it
Too much of the Enig be bestowed on the poet.
The Solution—Laughter