The scroll is new, still rough at either end,
The ink, scarce dry, no careless touch may brook,
Yet haste and bear it to my dearest friend;
Ere he has seen, none else thereon shall look:

Go armed, my slave. As comrade for the book
Take this large sponge, a fitting gift to send.
A pen might not avail to mend each joke,
But this can do it at a single stroke.