Satires And Epistles Of Horace Imitated. - Satire Ii. To Mr Bethel Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDD EE FFGGGG HHGGGGII G JJKKGGLMNN GGOOGGGG OOPP QQRRBBGGOOGG GGSSTTUUVVOOOO GGSSWW GGWWXXYYWW WWGGZA2B2B2 OOC2C2D2NE2E2F2F2G2G 2 GGG SSOOH2H2GG GGNNOO GGFFGGGGOOSSWWI2J2H2 H2K2BWW GGF2F2L2J2GGGGM2J2E2 N2N2OOOOOON2 GGGGO2O2

What and how great the virtue and the artA
To live on little with a cheerful heartA
A doctrine sage but truly none of mineB
Let's talk my friends but talk before we dineB
Not when a gilt buffet's reflected prideC
Turns you from sound philosophy asideC
Not when from plate to plate your eyeballs rollD
And the brain dances to the mantling bowlD
-
Hear Bethel's sermon one not versed in schoolsE
But strong in sense and wise without the rulesE
-
Go work hunt exercise he thus beganF
Then scorn a homely dinner if you canF
Your wine lock'd up your butler stroll'd abroadG
Or fish denied the river yet unthaw'dG
If then plain bread and milk will do the featG
The pleasure lies in you and not the meatG
-
Preach as I please I doubt our curious menH
Will choose a pheasant still before a henH
Yet hens of Guinea full as good I holdG
Except you eat the feathers green and goldG
Of carps and mullets why prefer the greatG
Though cut in pieces ere my lord can eatG
Yet for small turbots such esteem professI
Because God made these large the other lessI
-
Oldfield with more than harpy throat enduedG
Cries 'Send me gods a whole hog barbecued '-
Oh blast it south winds till a stench exhaleJ
Rank as the ripeness of a rabbit's tailJ
By what criterion do ye eat d' ye thinkK
If this is prized for sweetness that for stinkK
When the tired glutton labours through a treatG
He finds no relish in the sweetest meatG
He calls for something bitter something sourL
And the rich feast concludes extremely poorM
Cheap eggs and herbs and olives still we seeN
Thus much is left of old simplicityN
-
The robin redbreast till of late had restG
And children sacred held a martin's nestG
Till beccaficos sold so devilish dearO
To one that was or would have been a peerO
Let me extol a cat on oysters fedG
I'll have a party at the Bedford headG
Or even to crack live crawfish recommendG
I'd never doubt at court to make a friendG
-
'Tis yet in vain I own to keep a potherO
About one vice and fall into the otherO
Between excess and famine lies a meanP
Plain but not sordid though not splendid cleanP
-
Avidien or his wife no matter whichQ
For him you'll call a dog and her a bitchQ
Sell their presented partridges and fruitsR
And humbly live on rabbits and on rootsR
One half pint bottle serves them both to dineB
And is at once their vinegar and wineB
But on some lucky day as when they foundG
A lost bank bill or heard their son was drown'dG
At such a feast old vinegar to spareO
Is what two souls so generous cannot bearO
Oil though it stink they drop by drop impartG
But souse the cabbage with a bounteous heartG
-
He knows to live who keeps the middle stateG
And neither leans on this side nor on thatG
Nor stops for one bad cork his butler's payS
Swears like Albutius a good cook awayS
Nor lets like Naevius every error passT
The musty wine foul cloth or greasy glassT
Now hear what blessings temperance can bringU
Thus said our friend and what he said I singU
First health the stomach cramm'd from every dishV
A tomb of boil'd and roast and flesh and fishV
Where bile and wind and phlegm and acid jarO
And all the man is one intestine warO
Remembers oft the school boy's simple fareO
The temperate sleeps and spirits light as airO
-
How pale each worshipful and reverend guestG
Rise from a clergy or a city feastG
What life in all that ample body sayS
What heavenly particle inspires the clayS
The soul subsides and wickedly inclinesW
To seem but mortal even in sound divinesW
-
On morning wings how active springs the mindG
That leaves the load of yesterday behindG
How easy every labour it pursuesW
How coming to the poet every MuseW
Not but we may exceed some holy timeX
Or tired in search of truth or search of rhymeX
Ill health some just indulgence may engageY
And more the sickness of long life old ageY
For fainting age what cordial drop remainsW
If our intemperate youth the vessel drainsW
-
Our fathers praised rank ven'son You supposeW
Perhaps young men our fathers had no noseW
Not so a buck was then a week's repastG
And 'twas their point I ween to make it lastG
More pleased to keep it till their friends could comeZ
Than eat the sweetest by themselves at homeA2
Why had not I in those good times my birthB2
Ere coxcomb pies or coxcombs were on earthB2
-
Unworthy he the voice of fame to hearO
That sweetest music to an honest earO
For faith Lord Fanny you are in the wrongC2
The world's good word is better than a songC2
Who has not learn'd fresh sturgeon and ham pieD2
Are no rewards for want and infamyN
When luxury has lick'd up all thy pelfE2
Cursed by thy neighbours thy trustees thyselfE2
To friends to fortune to mankind a shameF2
Think how posterity will treat thy nameF2
And buy a rope that future times may tellG2
Thou hast at least bestow'd one penny wellG2
-
'Right ' cries his lordship 'for a rogue in needG
To have a taste is insolence indeedG
In me 'tis noble suits my birth and stateG
My wealth unwieldy and my heap too great '-
Then like the sun let bounty spread her rayS
And shine that superfluity awayS
Oh impudence of wealth with all thy storeO
How dar'st thou let one worthy man be poorO
Shall half the new built churches round thee fallH2
Make quays build bridges or repair WhitehallH2
Or to thy country let that heap be lentG
As Marlbro's was but not at five per centG
-
Who thinks that Fortune cannot change her mindG
Prepares a dreadful jest for all mankindG
And who stands safest tell me is it heN
That spreads and swells in puff'd prosperityN
Or blest with little whose preventing careO
In peace provides fit arms against a warO
-
Thus Bethel spoke who always speaks his thoughtG
And always thinks the very thing he oughtG
His equal mind I copy what I canF
And as I love would imitate the manF
In South sea days not happier when surmisedG
The lord of thousands than if now excisedG
In forest planted by a father's handG
Than in five acres now of rented landG
Content with little I can piddle hereO
On broccoli and mutton round the yearO
But ancient friends though poor or out of playS
That touch my bell I cannot turn awayS
'Tis true no turbots dignify my boardsW
But gudgeons flounders what my Thames affordsW
To Hounslow Heath I point and Bansted DownI2
Thence comes your mutton and these chicks my ownJ2
From yon old walnut tree a shower shall fallH2
And grapes long lingering on my only wallH2
And figs from standard and espalier joinK2
The devil is in you if you cannot dineB
Then cheerful healths your mistress shall have placeW
And what's more rare a poet shall say graceW
-
Fortune not much of humbling me can boastG
Though double tax'd how little have I lostG
My life's amusements have been just the sameF2
Before and after standing armies cameF2
My lands are sold my father's house is goneL2
I'll hire another's is not that my ownJ2
And yours my friends through whose free opening gateG
None comes too early none departs too lateG
For I who hold sage Homer's rule the bestG
Welcome the coming speed the going guestG
'Pray Heaven it last ' cries Swift 'as you go onM2
I wish to God this house had been your ownJ2
Pity to build without a son or wifeE2
Why you'll enjoy it only all your life '-
Well if the use be mine can it concern oneN2
Whether the name belong to Pope or VernonN2
What's property dear Swift You see it alterO
From you to me from me to Peter WalterO
Or in a mortgage prove a lawyer's shareO
Or in a jointure vanish from the heirO
Or in pure equity the case not clearO
The Chancery takes your rents for twenty yearO
At best it falls to some ungracious sonN2
Who cries 'My father's damn'd and all's my own '-
Shades that to Bacon could retreat affordG
Become the portion of a booby lordG
And Helmsley once proud Buckingham's delightG
Slides to a scrivener or a city knightG
Let lands and houses have what lords they willO2
Let us be fix'd and our own masters stillO2

Alexander Pope



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