Epistle To Robert Earl Of Oxford And Earl Mortimer Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCC DDEEFF GHIIEEJJ KKLLMM NNOOCCPPIIQQRR| Such were the notes thy once loved Poet sung | A |
| Till Death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue | A |
| Oh just beheld and lost admired and mourn'd | B |
| With softest manners gentlest arts adorn'd | B |
| Blest in each science blest in every strain | C |
| Dear to the Muse to Harley dear in vain | C |
| - | |
| For him thou oft hast bid the world attend | D |
| Fond to forget the statesman in the friend | D |
| For Swift and him despised the farce of state | E |
| The sober follies of the wise and great | E |
| Dext'rous the craving fawning crowd to quit | F |
| And pleased to 'scape from Flattery to Wit | F |
| - | |
| Absent or dead still let a friend be dear | G |
| A sigh the absent claims the dead a tear | H |
| Recall those nights that closed thy toilsome days | I |
| Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays | I |
| Who careless now of interest fame or fate | E |
| Perhaps forgets that Oxford e'er was great | E |
| Or deeming meanest what we greatest call | J |
| Behold thee glorious only in thy fall | J |
| - | |
| And sure if aught below the seats divine | K |
| Can touch immortals 'tis a soul like thine | K |
| A soul supreme in each hard instance tried | L |
| Above all pain all passion and all pride | L |
| The rage of power the blast of public breath | M |
| The lust of lucre and the dread of death | M |
| - | |
| In vain to deserts thy retreat is made | N |
| The Muse attends thee to thy silent shade | N |
| 'Tis hers the brave man's latest steps to trace | O |
| Rejudge his acts and dignify disgrace | O |
| When interest calls off all her sneaking train | C |
| And all the obliged desert and all the vain | C |
| She waits or to the scaffold or the cell | P |
| When the last lingering friend has bid farewell | P |
| Even now she shades thy evening walk with bays | I |
| No hireling she no prostitute to praise | I |
| Even now observant of the parting ray | Q |
| Eyes the calm sunset of thy various day | Q |
| Through Fortune's cloud one truly great can see | R |
| Nor fears to tell that Mortimer is he | R |
Alexander Pope
(1)
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