Epistle To Dr. Arbuthnot Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AA BBCCDD EEFFGGHH IIJKKKLLKKMM NNOPBBQQKKBBK LLKKR SSK TTU K KKR K V WWXXKK KKYYKKQQ ZZA2B2C2C2D2D2LE2KKI IVF2RRG2G2H2H2I2I2J2 K2 KKG2G2L2 M2M2QN2KKB O2O2 P2P2Q2Q2R2R2S2S2T2T2 I2I2KKBBVVU2V2KK KKW2W2X2X2Y2Y2Z2Z2 A3B3KKI2| A | |
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| Shut shut the door good John fatigu'd I said | B |
| Tie up the knocker say I'm sick I'm dead | B |
| The dog star rages nay 'tis past a doubt | C |
| All Bedlam or Parnassus is let out | C |
| Fire in each eye and papers in each hand | D |
| They rave recite and madden round the land | D |
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| What walls can guard me or what shades can hide | E |
| They pierce my thickets through my grot they glide | E |
| By land by water they renew the charge | F |
| They stop the chariot and they board the barge | F |
| No place is sacred not the church is free | G |
| Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me | G |
| Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme | H |
| Happy to catch me just at dinner time | H |
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| Is there a parson much bemus'd in beer | I |
| A maudlin poetess a rhyming peer | I |
| A clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross | J |
| Who pens a stanza when he should engross | K |
| Is there who lock'd from ink and paper scrawls | K |
| With desp'rate charcoal round his darken'd walls | K |
| All fly to Twit'nam and in humble strain | L |
| Apply to me to keep them mad or vain | L |
| Arthur whose giddy son neglects the laws | K |
| Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause | K |
| Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope | M |
| And curses wit and poetry and Pope | M |
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| Friend to my life which did not you prolong | N |
| The world had wanted many an idle song | N |
| What drop or nostrum can this plague remove | O |
| Or which must end me a fool's wrath or love | P |
| A dire dilemma either way I'm sped | B |
| If foes they write if friends they read me dead | B |
| Seiz'd and tied down to judge how wretched I | Q |
| Who can't be silent and who will not lie | Q |
| To laugh were want of goodness and of grace | K |
| And to be grave exceeds all pow'r of face | K |
| I sit with sad civility I read | B |
| With honest anguish and an aching head | B |
| And drop at last but in unwilling ears | K |
| This saving counsel 'Keep your piece nine years ' | - |
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| 'Nine years ' cries he who high in Drury lane | L |
| Lull'd by soft zephyrs through the broken pane | L |
| Rhymes ere he wakes and prints before Term ends | K |
| Oblig'd by hunger and request of friends | K |
| 'The piece you think is incorrect why take it | R |
| I'm all submission what you'd have it make it ' | - |
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| Three things another's modest wishes bound | S |
| My friendship and a prologue and ten pound | S |
| Pitholeon sends to me 'You know his Grace | K |
| I want a patron ask him for a place ' | - |
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| Pitholeon libell'd me 'but here's a letter | T |
| Informs you sir 'twas when he knew no better | T |
| Dare you refuse him Curll invites to dine | U |
| He'll write a Journal or he'll turn Divine ' | - |
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| Bless me a packet ''Tis a stranger sues | K |
| A virgin tragedy an orphan muse ' | - |
| If I dislike it 'Furies death and rage ' | - |
| If I approve 'Commend it to the stage ' | - |
| There thank my stars my whole commission ends | K |
| The play'rs and I are luckily no friends | K |
| Fir'd that the house reject him ''Sdeath I'll print it | R |
| And shame the fools your int'rest sir with Lintot ' | - |
| 'Lintot dull rogue will think your price too much ' | - |
| 'Not sir if you revise it and retouch ' | - |
| All my demurs but double his attacks | K |
| At last he whispers 'Do and we go snacks ' | - |
| Glad of a quarrel straight I clap the door | V |
| 'Sir let me see your works and you no more ' | - |
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| 'Tis sung when Midas' ears began to spring | W |
| Midas a sacred person and a king | W |
| His very minister who spied them first | X |
| Some say his queen was forc'd to speak or burst | X |
| And is not mine my friend a sorer case | K |
| When ev'ry coxcomb perks them in my face | K |
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| 'Good friend forbear you deal in dang'rous things | K |
| I'd never name queens ministers or kings | K |
| Keep close to ears and those let asses prick | Y |
| 'Tis nothing' Nothing if they bite and kick | Y |
| Out with it Dunciad let the secret pass | K |
| That secret to each fool that he's an ass | K |
| The truth once told and wherefore should we lie | Q |
| The queen of Midas slept and so may I | Q |
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| You think this cruel take it for a rule | Z |
| No creature smarts so little as a fool | Z |
| Let peals of laughter Codrus round thee break | A2 |
| Thou unconcern'd canst hear the mighty crack | B2 |
| Pit box and gall'ry in convulsions hurl'd | C2 |
| Thou stand'st unshook amidst a bursting world | C2 |
| Who shames a scribbler break one cobweb through | D2 |
| He spins the slight self pleasing thread anew | D2 |
| Destroy his fib or sophistry in vain | L |
| The creature's at his dirty work again | E2 |
| Thron'd in the centre of his thin designs | K |
| Proud of a vast extent of flimsy lines | K |
| Whom have I hurt has poet yet or peer | I |
| Lost the arch'd eye brow or Parnassian sneer | I |
| And has not Colley still his lord and whore | V |
| His butchers Henley his Free masons Moore | F2 |
| Does not one table Bavius still admit | R |
| Still to one bishop Philips seem a wit | R |
| Still Sappho 'Hold for God sake you'll offend | G2 |
| No names be calm learn prudence of a friend | G2 |
| I too could write and I am twice as tall | H2 |
| But foes like these ' One flatt'rer's worse than all | H2 |
| Of all mad creatures if the learn'd are right | I2 |
| It is the slaver kills and not the bite | I2 |
| A fool quite angry is quite innocent | J2 |
| Alas 'tis ten times worse when they repent | K2 |
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| One dedicates in high heroic prose | K |
| And ridicules beyond a hundred foes | K |
| One from all Grub Street will my fame defend | G2 |
| And more abusive calls himself my friend | G2 |
| This prints my Letters that expects a bribe | L2 |
| And others roar aloud 'Subscribe subscribe ' | - |
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| There are who to my person pay their court | M2 |
| I cough like Horace and though lean am short | M2 |
| Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high | Q |
| Such Ovid's nose and 'Sir you have an eye' | N2 |
| Go on obliging creatures make me see | K |
| All that disgrac'd my betters met in me | K |
| Say for my comfort languishing in bed | B |
| 'Just so immortal Maro held his head ' | - |
| And when I die be sure you let me know | O2 |
| Great Homer died three thousand years ago | O2 |
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| Why did I write what sin to me unknown | P2 |
| Dipp'd me in ink my parents' or my own | P2 |
| As yet a child nor yet a fool to fame | Q2 |
| I lisp'd in numbers for the numbers came | Q2 |
| I left no calling for this idle trade | R2 |
| No duty broke no father disobey'd | R2 |
| The Muse but serv'd to ease some friend not wife | S2 |
| To help me through this long disease my life | S2 |
| To second Arbuthnot thy art and care | T2 |
| And teach the being you preserv'd to bear | T2 |
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| But why then publish Granville the polite | I2 |
| And knowing Walsh would tell me I could write | I2 |
| Well natur'd Garth inflamed with early praise | K |
| And Congreve lov'd and Swift endur'd my lays | K |
| The courtly Talbot Somers Sheffield read | B |
| Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head | B |
| And St John's self great Dryden's friends before | V |
| With open arms receiv'd one poet more | V |
| Happy my studies when by these approv'd | U2 |
| Happier their author when by these belov'd | V2 |
| From these the world will judge of men and books | K |
| Not from the Burnets Oldmixons and Cookes | K |
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| Soft were my numbers who could take offence | K |
| While pure description held the place of sense | K |
| Like gentle Fanny's was my flow'ry theme | W2 |
| A painted mistress or a purling stream | W2 |
| Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill | X2 |
| I wish'd the man a dinner and sat still | X2 |
| Yet then did Dennis rave in furious fret | Y2 |
| I never answer'd I was not in debt | Y2 |
| If want provok'd or madness made them print | Z2 |
| I wag'd no war with Bedlam or the Mint | Z2 |
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| Did some more sober critic come abroad | A3 |
| If wrong I smil'd if right I kiss'd the rod | B3 |
| Pains reading study are their just pretence | K |
| And all they want is spirit taste and sense | K |
| Commas and points they set exactly right | I2 |
| An | - |
Alexander Pope
(1)
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About Epistle To Dr. Arbuthnot
Epistle To Dr. Arbuthnot is a poem by Alexander Pope. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.