Tom May's Death Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCCDEFFGGHHIIJKLLMM NNOPQRSMIIKTIIUUII VVOOIINNIIWWBBFFIIGG XXBBIBYDZZA2A2IIB2B2 IIIIIIFFQC2D2D2IIE2E 2F2F2G2G2H2 III2I2

As one put drunk into the packet boatA
Tom May was hurried hence and did not know'tB
But was amazed on the Elysian sideC
And with an eye uncertain gazing wideC
Could not determine in what place he wasD
For whence in Stephen's Alley trees or grassE
Nor there The Pope's Head nor The Mitre layF
Signs by which still he found and lost his wayF
At last while doubtfully he all comparesG
He saw near hand as he imagined AyresG
Such did he seem for coruplence and portH
But 'twas a man much of another sortH
'Twas Ben that in the dusky laurel shadeI
Amongst the chorus of old poets layedI
Sounding of ancient heroes such as wereJ
The subjects' safety and the rebels' fearK
And how a double headed vulture eatsL
Brutus and Cassius the people's cheatsL
But seeing May he varied straight his songM
Gently to signify that he was wrongM
'Cups more than civil of Emathian wineN
I sing' said he 'and the Pharsalian SignN
Where the historian of the commonsealthO
In his own bowels sheathed the conquering health 'P
By this May to himself and them was comeQ
He found he was translated and by whomR
Yet then with foot as strumbling as his tongueS
Pressed for his place among the learned throngM
But Ben who knew not neither foe nor friendI
Sworn enemy to all that do pretendI
Rose more than ever he was seen severeK
Shook his gray locks and his own bays did tearT
At this intrusion Then with laurel wandI
The awful sign of his supreme commandI
At whose dread whisk Virgil himself does quakeU
And Horace patiently its stroke does takeU
As he crowds in he whipped him o'er the pateI
Like Pembroke at the masque and then did rateI
-
'Far from these blessed shades tread back againV
Most servile wit and mercenary penV
Polydore Lucan Alan Vandal GothO
Malignant poet and historian bothO
Go seek the novice statesmen and obtrudeI
On them some Roman cast similitudeI
Tell them of liberty the stories fineN
Until you all grow consuls in your wineN
Or thou Dictator of the glass bestowI
On him the Cato this the CiceroI
Transferring old Rome hither in your talkW
As Bethlem's House did to Loreto walkW
Foul architect that hadst not eye to seeB
How ill the measures of these states agreeB
And who by Rome's example England layF
Those but to Lucan to continue MayF
But thee nor ignorance nor seeming goodI
Misled bu malice fixed and understoodI
Because some one than thee more worthy wearsG
The sacred laurel hence are all these tearsG
Must therefore all the world be set on flameX
Because a g aacute zette writer missed his aimX
And for a tankard bearing muse must weB
As for the basket Guelphs and Ghib'llines beB
When the sword glitters o'er the judge's headI
And fear has coward churchmen silenc egrave dB
Then is the poet's time 'tis then he drawsY
And single fights forsaken virtue's causeD
He when the wheel of empire whirleth backZ
And though the world's disjointed axle crackZ
Sings still of ancient rights and better timesA2
Seeks wretched good and arraigns successful crimesA2
But thou base man first prostituted hastI
Our spotless knowledge and the studies chasteI
Apostatizing from our arts and usB2
To turn the chronicler to SpartacusB2
Yet wast thou taken hence with equal fateI
Before thou couldst great Charles his death relateI
But what will deeper wound thy little mindI
Hast left surviving D'Avenant still behindI
Who laughs to see in this thy death renewedI
Right Roman poverty and gratitudeI
Poor poet thou and grateful senate theyF
Who thy last reckoning did so largely payF
And with the public gravity would comeQ
When thou hadst drunk thy last to lead thee homeC2
If that can be thy home where Spenser liesD2
And reverend Chaucer but their dust does riseD2
Against thee and expels thee from their sideI
As th' eagle's plumes from other birds divideI
Nor here thy shade must dwell Return returnE2
Where sulphury Phlegethon does ever burnE2
Thee Cerberus with all his jaws shall gnashF2
Megaera thee with all her serpents lashF2
Thou riveted into Ixion's wheelG2
Shalt break and the perpetual vulture feelG2
'Tis just what torments poets e'er did feignH2
Thou first historically shouldst sustain '-
-
Thus by irrevocable sentence castI
May only Master of these Revels passedI
And straight he vanished in the cloud of pitchI2
Such as unto the Sabbath bears the witchI2

Andrew Marvell



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