Imitations Of Horace: The First Epistle Of The Second Book Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCCDDEEFFGGHHIIJJKK AALM NNFFOPQQ PPRSPPPPTTEE UUEEVV WWXXYQ EE PPZZ A2A2 AAXXAA EEPPPPPPPP B2B2PPPPXXC2C2 PPZZEED2D2PPPPE2WF2F 2EE ZZAAZZC2C2 A2A2ZZ XXPPZZC2C2CCEEBD2ZZE EPP PPPPEEZZG2G2EEPPPPAA PPZZ H2H2EEAAPPI2Z

Ne Rubeam Pingui donatus MunereA
Horace Epistles II iB
While you great patron of mankind sustainC
The balanc'd world and open all the mainC
Your country chief in arms abroad defendD
At home with morals arts and laws amendD
How shall the Muse from such a monarch stealE
An hour and not defraud the public wealE
Edward and Henry now the boast of fameF
And virtuous Alfred a more sacred nameF
After a life of gen'rous toils endur'dG
The Gaul subdu'd or property secur'dG
Ambition humbled mighty cities storm'dH
Or laws establish'd and the world reform'dH
Clos'd their long glories with a sigh to findI
Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankindI
All human virtue to its latest breathJ
Finds envy never conquer'd but by deathJ
The great Alcides ev'ry labour pastK
Had still this monster to subdue at lastK
Sure fate of all beneath whose rising rayA
Each star of meaner merit fades awayA
Oppress'd we feel the beam directly beatL
Those suns of glory please not till they setM
-
To thee the world its present homage paysN
The harvest early but mature the praiseN
Great friend of liberty in kings a nameF
Above all Greek above all Roman fameF
Whose word is truth as sacred and rever'dO
As Heav'n's own oracles from altars heardP
Wonder of kings like whom to mortal eyesQ
None e'er has risen and none e'er shall riseQ
-
Just in one instance be it yet confestP
Your people Sir are partial in the restP
Foes to all living worth except your ownR
And advocates for folly dead and goneS
Authors like coins grow dear as they grow oldP
It is the rust we value not the goldP
Chaucer's worst ribaldry is learn'd by roteP
And beastly Skelton heads of houses quoteP
One likes no language but the Faery QueenT
A Scot will fight for Christ's Kirk o' the GreenT
And each true Briton is to Ben so civilE
He swears the Muses met him at the DevilE
-
Though justly Greece her eldest sons admiresU
Why should not we be wiser than our siresU
In ev'ry public virtue we excelE
We build we paint we sing we dance as wellE
And learned Athens to our art must stoopV
Could she behold us tumbling through a hoopV
-
If time improve our wit as well as wineW
Say at what age a poet grows divineW
Shall we or shall we not account him soX
Who died perhaps an hundred years agoX
End all dispute and fix the year preciseY
When British bards begin t'immortalizeQ
-
Who lasts a century can have no flawE
I hold that wit a classic good in lawE
-
Suppose he wants a year will you compoundP
And shall we deem him ancient right and soundP
Or damn to all eternity at onceZ
At ninety nine a modern and a dunceZ
-
We shall not quarrel for a year or twoA2
By courtesy of England he may doA2
-
Then by the rule that made the horsetail bareA
I pluck out year by year as hair by hairA
And melt down ancients like a heap of snowX
While you to measure merits look in StoweX
And estimating authors by the yearA
Bestow a garland only on a bierA
-
Shakespeare whom you and ev'ry playhouse billE
Style the divine the matchless what you willE
For gain not glory wing'd his roving flightP
And grew immortal in his own despiteP
Ben old and poor as little seem'd to heedP
The life to come in ev'ry poet's creedP
Who now reads Cowley if he pleases yetP
His moral pleases not his pointed witP
Forgot his epic nay Pindaric artP
But still I love the language of his heartP
-
Yet surely surely these were famous menB2
What boy but hears the sayings of old BenB2
In all debates where critics bear a partP
Not one but nods and talks of Jonson's artP
Of Shakespeare's nature and of Cowley's witP
How Beaumont's judgment check'd what Fletcher writP
How Shadwell hasty Wycherley was slowX
But for the passions Southerne sure and RoweX
These only these support the crowded stageC2
From eldest Heywood down to Cibber's ageC2
-
All this may be the people's voice is oddP
It is and it is not the voice of GodP
To Gammer Gurton if it give the baysZ
And yet deny the Careless Husband praiseZ
Or say our fathers never broke a ruleE
Why then I say the public is a foolE
But let them own that greater faults than weD2
They had and greater virtues I'll agreeD2
Spenser himself affects the obsoleteP
And Sidney's verse halts ill on Roman feetP
Milton's strong pinion now not Heav'n can boundP
Now serpent like in prose he sweeps the groundP
In quibbles angel and archangel joinE2
And God the Father turns a school divineW
Not that I'd lop the beauties from his bookF2
Like slashing Bentley with his desp'rate hookF2
Or damn all Shakespeare like th' affected foolE
At court who hates whate'er he read at schoolE
-
-
But for the wits of either Charles's daysZ
The mob of gentlemen who wrote with easeZ
Sprat Carew Sedley and a hundred moreA
Like twinkling stars the Miscellanies o'erA
One simile that solitary shinesZ
In the dry desert of a thousand linesZ
Or lengthen'd thought that gleams through many a pageC2
Has sanctified whole poems for an ageC2
-
-
I lose my patience and I own it tooA2
When works are censur'd not as bad but newA2
While if our elders break all reason's lawsZ
These fools demand not pardon but applauseZ
-
-
On Avon's bank where flow'rs eternal blowX
If I but ask if any weed can growX
One tragic sentence if I dare derideP
Which Betterton's grave action dignifiedP
Or well mouth'd Booth with emphasis proclaimsZ
Though but perhaps a muster roll of namesZ
How will our fathers rise up in a rageC2
And swear all shame is lost in George's ageC2
You'd think no fools disgrac'd the former reignC
Did not some grave examples yet remainC
Who scorn a lad should teach his father skillE
And having once been wrong will be so stillE
He who to seem more deep than you or IB
Extols old bards or Merlin's ProphecyD2
Mistake him not he envies not admiresZ
And to debase the sons exalts the siresZ
Had ancient times conspir'd to disallowE
What then was new what had been ancient nowE
Or what remain'd so worthy to be readP
By learned critics of the mighty deadP
-
-
In days of ease when now the weary swordP
Was sheath'd and luxury with Charles restor'dP
In ev'ry taste of foreign courts improv'dP
All by the King's example liv'd and lov'dP
Then peers grew proud in horsemanship t'excelE
Newmarket's glory rose as Britain's fellE
The soldier breath'd the gallantries of FranceZ
And ev'ry flow'ry courtier writ romanceZ
Then marble soften'd into life grew warmG2
And yielding metal flow'd to human formG2
Lely on animated canvas stoleE
The sleepy eye that spoke the melting soulE
No wonder then when all was love and sportP
The willing Muses were debauch'd at courtP
On each enervate string they taught the noteP
To pant or tremble through an eunuch's throatP
But Britain changeful as a child at playA
Now calls in princes and now turns awayA
Now Whig now Tory what we lov'd we hateP
Now all for pleasure now for Church and stateP
Now for prerogative and now for lawsZ
Effects unhappy from a noble causeZ
-
-
Time was a sober Englishman would knockH2
His servants up and rise by five o'clockH2
Instruct his family in ev'ry ruleE
And send his wife to church his son to schoolE
To worship like his fathers was his careA
To teach their frugal virtues to his heirA
To prove that luxury could never holdP
And place on good security his goldP
Now times are chang'd and one poetic itchI2
Has seiZ

Alexander Pope



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