The Satires Of Dr John Donne, Dean Of St Paul's, Versified. Satire Iv Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCCC DDCCEECCFFGHIIIJJKKL LMMNNOOPQ RRCCSSII TTUVTTCCLQWWCCXW FFYYJJX Z W CCA2A2PB2 C2C2WWHHD2D2E2 CCCCD2D2F2P CCC XYG2G2H2H2WWE2E2X WWI2I2LLCC WWCCJ2K2CCCCK2L2M2M2 LLN2O2P2Q2R2R2S2S2WW T2T2WW LLU2U2V2W2X2X2Y2Z2D2 D2A3A3CCCCYYCC WWB3MF2C3YYWW CCCCD3D3A3A3E3E3YYS2 S2X2X2YYWWA3A3CCCCCC LLY2Z2F3F3CCCCCCG3G3 WWCCH3H3 G3G3E2E2G3G3CCCCWWG3 G3PPCCH3H3G3G3TC B2B2I3I3A2A2LLWYCCJ3 C CCWWCCWW E2E2P2P2CCG3G3Well if it be my time to quit the stage | A |
Adieu to all the follies of the age | A |
I die in charity with fool and knave | B |
Secure of peace at least beyond the grave | B |
I've had my purgatory here betimes | C |
And paid for all my satires all my rhymes | C |
The poet's hell its tortures fiends and flames | C |
To this were trifles toys and empty names | C |
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With foolish pride my heart was never fired | D |
Nor the vain itch t' admire or be admired | D |
I hoped for no commission from his Grace | C |
I bought no benefice I begg'd no place | C |
Had no new verses nor new suit to show | E |
Yet went to court the devil would have it so | E |
But as the fool that in reforming days | C |
Would go to mass in jest as story says | C |
Could not but think to pay his fine was odd | F |
Since 'twas no form'd design of serving God | F |
So was I punish'd as if full as proud | G |
As prone to ill as negligent of good | H |
As deep in debt without a thought to pay | I |
As vain as idle and as false as they | I |
Who live at court for going once that way | I |
Scarce was I enter'd when behold there came | J |
A thing which Adam had been posed to name | J |
Noah had refused it lodging in his ark | K |
Where all the race of reptiles might embark | K |
A verier monster than on Afric's shore | L |
The sun e'er got or slimy Nilus bore | L |
Or Sloane or Woodward's wondrous shelves contain | M |
Nay all that lying travellers can feign | M |
The watch would hardly let him pass at noon | N |
At night would swear him dropp'd out of the moon | N |
One whom the mob when next we find or make | O |
A Popish plot shall for a Jesuit take | O |
And the wise justice starting from his chair | P |
Cry By your priesthood tell me what you are | Q |
- | |
Such was the wight the apparel on his back | R |
Though coarse was reverend and though bare was black | R |
The suit if by the fashion one might guess | C |
Was velvet in the youth of good Queen Bess | C |
But mere tuff taffety what now remain'd | S |
So time that changes all things had ordain'd | S |
Our sons shall see it leisurely decay | I |
First turn plain rash then vanish quite away | I |
- | |
This thing has travell'd speaks each language too | T |
And knows what's fit for every State to do | T |
Of whose best phrase and courtly accent join'd | U |
He forms one tongue exotic and refined | V |
Talkers I've learn'd to bear Motteux I knew | T |
Henley himself I've heard and Budgell too | T |
The Doctor's wormwood style the hash of tongues | C |
A pedant makes the storm of Gonson's lungs | C |
The whole artillery of the terms of war | L |
And all those plagues in one the bawling Bar | Q |
These I could bear but not a rogue so civil | W |
Whose tongue will compliment you to the devil | W |
A tongue that can cheat widows cancel scores | C |
Make Scots speak treason cozen subtlest whores | C |
With royal favourites in flattery vie | X |
And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie | W |
- | |
He spies me out I whisper Gracious God | F |
What sin of mine could merit such a rod | F |
That all the shot of dulness now must be | Y |
From this thy blunderbuss discharged on me | Y |
Permit he cries no stranger to your fame | J |
To crave your sentiment if 's your name | J |
What speech esteem you most 'The King's ' said I | X |
But the best words 'Oh sir the Dictionary ' | - |
You miss my aim I mean the most acute | Z |
And perfect speaker 'Onslow past dispute ' | - |
But sir of writers 'Swift for closer style | W |
But Hoadley for a period of a mile ' | - |
Why yes 'tis granted these indeed may pass | C |
Good common linguists and so Panurge was | C |
Nay troth the Apostles though perhaps too rough | A2 |
Had once a pretty gift of tongues enough | A2 |
Yet these were all poor gentlemen I dare | P |
Affirm 'twas travel made them what they were | B2 |
- | |
Thus others' talents having nicely shown | C2 |
He came by sure transition to his own | C2 |
Till I cried out You prove yourself so able | W |
Pity you was not druggerman at Babel | W |
For had they found a linguist half so good | H |
I make no question but the tower had stood | H |
'Obliging sir for courts you sure were made | D2 |
Why then for ever buried in the shade | D2 |
Spirits like you should see and should be seen | E2 |
The king would smile on you at least the queen ' | - |
Ah gentle sir you courtiers so cajole us | C |
But Tully has it Nunquam minus solus | C |
And as for courts forgive me if I say | C |
No lessons now are taught the Spartan way | C |
Though in his pictures lust be full display'd | D2 |
Few are the converts Aretine has made | D2 |
And though the court show vice exceeding clear | F2 |
None should by my advice learn virtue there | P |
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At this entranced he lifts his hands and eyes | C |
Squeaks like a high stretch'd lutestring and replies | C |
'Oh 'tis the sweetest of all earthly things | C |
To gaze on princes and to talk of kings ' | - |
Then happy man who shows the tombs said I | X |
He dwells amidst the royal family | Y |
He every day from king to king can walk | G2 |
Of all our Harries all our Edwards talk | G2 |
And get by speaking truth of monarchs dead | H2 |
What few can of the living ease and bread | H2 |
'Lord sir a mere mechanic strangely low | W |
And coarse of phrase your English all are so | W |
How elegant your Frenchmen ' Mine d'ye mean | E2 |
I have but one I hope the fellow's clean | E2 |
'Oh sir politely so nay let me die | X |
Your only wearing is your paduasoy ' | - |
Not sir my only I have better still | W |
And this you see is but my dishabille | W |
Wild to get loose his patience I provoke | I2 |
Mistake confound object at all he spoke | I2 |
But as coarse iron sharpen'd mangles more | L |
And itch most hurts when anger'd to a sore | L |
So when you plague a fool 'tis still the curse | C |
You only make the matter worse and worse | C |
- | |
He pass'd it o'er affects an easy smile | W |
At all my peevishness and turns his style | W |
He asks 'What news ' I tell him of new plays | C |
New eunuchs harlequins and operas | C |
He hears and as a still with simples in it | J2 |
Between each drop it gives stays half a minute | K2 |
Loth to enrich me with too quick replies | C |
By little and by little drops his lies | C |
Mere household trash of birthnights balls and shows | C |
More than ten Hollinsheds or Halls or Stowes | C |
When the queen frown'd or smiled he knows and what | K2 |
A subtle minister may make of that | L2 |
Who sins with whom who got his pension rug | M2 |
Or quicken'd a reversion by a drug | M2 |
Whose place is quarter'd out three parts in four | L |
And whether to a bishop or a whore | L |
Who having lost his credit pawn'd his rent | N2 |
Is therefore fit to have a government | O2 |
Who in the secret deals in stocks secure | P2 |
And cheats the unknowing widow and the poor | Q2 |
Who makes a trust or charity a job | R2 |
And gets an act of parliament to rob | R2 |
Why turnpikes rise and now no cit nor clown | S2 |
Can gratis see the country or the town | S2 |
Shortly no lad shall chuck or lady vole | W |
But some excising courtier will have toll | W |
He tells what strumpet places sells for life | T2 |
What 'squire his lands what citizen his wife | T2 |
And last which proves him wiser still than all | W |
What lady's face is not a whited wall | W |
- | |
As one of Woodward's patients sick and sore | L |
I puke I nauseate yet he thrusts in more | L |
Trim's Europe's balance tops the statesman's part | U2 |
And talks Gazettes and Postboys o'er by heart | U2 |
Like a big wife at sight of loathsome meat | V2 |
Ready to cast I yawn I sigh and sweat | W2 |
Then as a licensed spy whom nothing can | X2 |
Silence or hurt he libels the great man | X2 |
Swears every place entail'd for years to come | Y2 |
In sure succession to the day of doom | Z2 |
He names the price for every office paid | D2 |
And says our wars thrive ill because delay'd | D2 |
Nay hints 'tis by connivance of the court | A3 |
That Spain robs on and Dunkirk's still a port | A3 |
Not more amazement seized on Circe's guests | C |
To see themselves fall endlong into beasts | C |
Than mine to find a subject staid and wise | C |
Already half turn'd traitor by surprise | C |
I felt the infection slide from him to me | Y |
As in the pox some give it to get free | Y |
And quick to swallow me methought I saw | C |
One of our giant statues ope its jaw | C |
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In that nice moment as another lie | W |
Stood just a tilt the minister came by | W |
To him he flies and bows and bows again | B3 |
Then close as Umbra joins the dirty train | M |
Not Fannius' self more impudently near | F2 |
When half his nose is in his prince's ear | C3 |
I quaked at heart and still afraid to see | Y |
All the court fill'd with stranger things than he | Y |
Ran out as fast as one that pays his bail | W |
And dreads more actions hurries from a jail | W |
- | |
Bear me some god oh quickly bear me hence | C |
To wholesome solitude the nurse of sense | C |
Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings | C |
And the free soul looks down to pity kings | C |
There sober thought pursued the amusing theme | D3 |
Till fancy colour'd it and form'd a dream | D3 |
A vision hermits can to Hell transport | A3 |
And forced ev'n me to see the damn'd at court | A3 |
Not Dante dreaming all the infernal state | E3 |
Beheld such scenes of envy sin and hate | E3 |
Base fear becomes the guilty not the free | Y |
Suits tyrants plunderers but suits not me | Y |
Shall I the terror of this sinful town | S2 |
Care if a liveried lord or smile or frown | S2 |
Who cannot flatter and detest who can | X2 |
Tremble before a noble serving man | X2 |
O my fair mistress Truth shall I quit thee | Y |
For huffing braggart puff'd nobility | Y |
Thou who since yesterday hast roll'd o'er all | W |
The busy idle blockheads of the ball | W |
Hast thou O Sun beheld an emptier sort | A3 |
Than such as swell this bladder of a court | A3 |
Now pox on those who show a court in wax | C |
It ought to bring all courtiers on their backs | C |
Such painted puppets such a varnish'd race | C |
Of hollow gewgaws only dress and face | C |
Such waxen noses stately staring things | C |
No wonder some folks bow and think them kings | C |
- | |
See where the British youth engaged no more | L |
At Fig's at White's with felons or a whore | L |
Pay their last duty to the court and come | Y2 |
All fresh and fragrant to the drawing room | Z2 |
In hues as gay and odours as divine | F3 |
As the fair fields they sold to look so fine | F3 |
'That's velvet for a king ' the flatterer swears | C |
'Tis true for ten days hence 'twill be King Lear's | C |
Our court may justly to our stage give rules | C |
That helps it both to fools' coats and to fools | C |
And why not players strut in courtiers' clothes | C |
For these are actors too as well as those | C |
Wants reach all states they beg but better dress'd | G3 |
And all is splendid poverty at best | G3 |
- | |
Painted for sight and essenced for the smell | W |
Like frigates fraught with spice and cochineal | W |
Sail in the ladies how each pirate eyes | C |
So weak a vessel and so rich a prize | C |
Top gallant he and she in all her trim | H3 |
He boarding her she striking sail to him | H3 |
'Dear Countess you have charms all hearts to hit ' | - |
And 'Sweet Sir Fopling you have so much wit ' | - |
Such wits and beauties are not praised for nought | G3 |
For both the beauty and the wit are bought | G3 |
'Twould burst ev'n Heraclitus with the spleen | E2 |
To see those antics Fopling and Courtin | E2 |
The Presence seems with things so richly odd | G3 |
The mosque of Mahound or some queer pagod | G3 |
See them survey their limbs by Durer's rules | C |
Of all beau kind the best proportion'd fools | C |
Adjust their clothes and to confession draw | C |
Those venial sins an atom or a straw | C |
But oh what terrors must distract the soul | W |
Convicted of that mortal crime a hole | W |
Or should one pound of powder less bespread | G3 |
Those monkey tails that wag behind their head | G3 |
Thus finish'd and corrected to a hair | P |
They march to prate their hour before the fair | P |
So first to preach a white gloved chaplain goes | C |
With band of lily and with cheek of rose | C |
Sweeter than Sharon in immaculate trim | H3 |
Neatness itself impertinent in him | H3 |
Let but the ladies smile and they are blest | G3 |
Prodigious how the things protest protest | G3 |
Peace fools or Gonson will for Papists seize you | T |
If once he catch you at your Jesu Jesu | C |
- | |
Nature made every fop to plague his brother | B2 |
Just as one beauty mortifies another | B2 |
But here's the captain that will plague them both | I3 |
Whose air cries Arm whose very look's an oath | I3 |
The captain's honest sirs and that's enough | A2 |
Though his soul's bullet and his body buff | A2 |
He spits fore right his haughty chest before | L |
Like battering rams beats open every door | L |
And with a face as red and as awry | W |
As Herod's hangdogs in old tapestry | Y |
Scarecrow to boys the breeding woman's curse | C |
Has yet a strange ambition to look worse | C |
Confounds the civil keeps the rude in awe | J3 |
Jests like a licensed fool commands like law | C |
- | |
Frighted I quit the room but leave it so | C |
As men from jails to execution go | C |
For hung with deadly sins I see the wall | W |
And lined with giants deadlier than 'em all | W |
Each man an Ascapart of strength to toss | C |
For quoits both Temple bar and Charing cross | C |
Scared at the grisly forms I sweat I fly | W |
And shake all o'er like a discover'd spy | W |
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Courts are too much for wits so weak as mine | E2 |
Charge them with Heaven's artillery bold divine | E2 |
From such alone the great rebukes endure | P2 |
Whose satire's sacred and whose rage secure | P2 |
'Tis mine to wash a few light stains but theirs | C |
To deluge sin and drown a court in tears | C |
Howe'er what's now Apocrypha my wit | G3 |
In time to come may pass for holy writ | G3 |
Alexander Pope
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