On The Death Of The Late Earl Of Rochester Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBAACCDEFFGGBB AAHI JJKLFFMNBBLK BBOMKLJJ JJCCJJBBBAA JJPPBBJJB BQQRPAAJJS STTUUVVJJFFVVAA| Mourn Mourn ye Muses all your loss deplore | A |
| The Young the Noble Strephon is no more | A |
| Yes yes he fled quick as departing Light | B |
| And ne're shall rise from Deaths eternal Night | B |
| So rich a Prize the Stygian Gods ne're bore | A |
| Such Wit such Beauty never grac'd their Shore | A |
| He was but lent this duller World t'irnprove | C |
| In all the charms of Poetry and Love | C |
| Both were his gift which freely he bestow'd | D |
| And like a God dealt to the wond'ring Crowd | E |
| Scorning the little Vanity of Fame | F |
| Spight of himself attain'd a Glorious name | F |
| But oh in vain was all his peevish Pride | G |
| The Sun as soon might his vast Lustre hide | G |
| As piercing pointed and more lasting bright | B |
| As suffering no vicissitudes of Night | B |
| - | |
| Mourn Mourn ye Muses all your loss deplore | A |
| The Young the Noble Strephon is no more | A |
| Now uninspired upon your Banks we lye | H |
| Unless when we wou'd moum his Elegie | I |
| - | |
| His name's a Genius that wou'd Wit dispense | J |
| And give the Theme a Soul the Words a Sense | J |
| But A fine thought that Ravisht when it spoke | K |
| With the soft Youth eternal leave has took | L |
| Uncommon Wit that did the soul o'recome | F |
| Is buried all in Strephon 's Worship'd Tomb | F |
| Satyr has lost its Art its Sting is gone | M |
| The Fop and Cully now may be undone | N |
| That dear instructing Rage is now Aay'd | B |
| And no sharp Pen dares tell 'em how they've stray'd | B |
| Bold as a God was ev'ry lash he took | L |
| But kind and gentle the chastising stroke | K |
| - | |
| Mourn Mourn ye Youths whom Fortune has betray'd | B |
| The last Reproacher of your Vice is dead | B |
| Mourn all ye Beauties put your Cyprus on | O |
| The truest Swain that e're Ador'd you's gone | M |
| Think how he lov'd and writ and sigh'd and spoke | K |
| Recall his Meen his Fashion and his Look | L |
| By what dear Arts the Soul he did surprize | J |
| Soft as his Voice and charming as his Eyes | J |
| - | |
| Bring Garlands all of never dying Flow'rs | J |
| Bedew'd with everlasting failing Show'rs | J |
| Fix your fair eyes upon your victim'd Slave | C |
| Sent Gay and Young to his untimely Grave | C |
| See where the Noble Swain Extended lies | J |
| Too sad a Triumph of your Victories | J |
| Adom'd with all the Graces Heav'n e're lent | B |
| All that was Great Soft Lovely Excellent | B |
| You've laid into his early Monument | B |
| Mourn Mourn ye Beauties your sad loss deplore | A |
| The Young the Charming Strephon is no more | A |
| - | |
| Mourn all ye little Gods of Love whose | J |
| Darts Have lost their wonted power of piercing hearts | J |
| Lay by the gilded Quiver and the Bow | P |
| The useless Toys can do no Mischief now | P |
| Those Eyes that all your Arrows points inspir'd | B |
| Those Lights that gave ye fire are now retir'd | B |
| Cold as his Tomb pale as your Mothers Doves | J |
| Bewail him then oh all ye little Loves | J |
| For you the humblest Votary have lost | B |
| - | |
| That ever your Divinities could boast | B |
| Upon your hands your weeping Heads decline | Q |
| And let your wings encompass round his Shrine | Q |
| In stead of Flow'rs your broken Arrows strow | R |
| And at his feet lay the neglected Bow | P |
| Mourn all ye little Gods your loss deplore | A |
| The soft the Charming Strephon is no more | A |
| Large was his Fame but short his Glorious Race | J |
| Like young Lucretius and dy'd apace | J |
| So early Roses fade so over all | S |
| - | |
| They cast their fragrant scents then softly fall | S |
| While all the scatter'd perfum'd leaves declare | T |
| How lovely 'twas when whole how sweet how fair | T |
| Had he been to the Roman Empire known | U |
| When great Augustus fili'd the peaceful Throne | U |
| Had he the noble wond'rous Poet seen | V |
| And known his Genius and survey'd his Meen | V |
| When Wits and Heroes grac'd Divine abodes | J |
| He had increas'd the number of their Gods | J |
| The Royal Judge had Temples rear'd to's name | F |
| And made him as Immortal as his Fame | F |
| In Love and Verse his Ovid he'ad out done | V |
| And all his Laurels and hisjulia won | V |
| Mourn Mourn unhappy World his loss deplore | A |
| The great the charming Strephon is no more | A |
Aphra Behn
(1)
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