Epistle To Elizabeth Countesse Of Rutland Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BBCCDDEEFFGGHHIIJJGG IIGGKKLLGGMMLLNOEEPP CQGGGGRRQQGGEESTGGUV EEQQWWXXVYQQGGUUYYGG ZA2A2A2GGGGGGB2C2YMadame | A |
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VVhil'st that for which all vertue now is sold | B |
And almost every vice almightie gold | B |
That which to boote with hell is thought worth heaven | C |
And for it life conscience yea soules are given | C |
Toyles by grave custome up and downe the Court | D |
To every squire or groome that will report | D |
Well or ill only all the following yeere | E |
Just to the waight their this dayes presents beare | E |
While it makes huishers serviceable men | F |
And some one apteth to be trusted then | F |
Though never after whiles it gaynes the voyce | G |
Of some grand peere whose ayre doth make rejoyce | G |
The foole that gave it who will want and weepe | H |
When his proud patrons favours are asleepe | H |
While thus it buyes great grace and hunts poore fame | I |
Runs betweene man and man 'tweene dame and dame | I |
Solders crackt friendship makes love last a day | J |
Or perhaps lesse whil'st gold beares all this sway | J |
I that have none to send you send you verse | G |
A present which if elder Writs reherse | G |
The truth of times was once of more esteeme | I |
Than this our guilt nor golden age can deeme | I |
When gold was made no weapon to cut throats | G |
Or put to flight Astrea when her ingots | G |
Were yet unfound and better plac'd in earth | K |
Than here to give pride fame and peasants birth | K |
But let this drosse carry what price it will | L |
With noble ignorants and let them still | L |
Turne upon scorned verse their quarter face | G |
With you I know my offring will finde grace | G |
For what a sinne 'gainst your great fathers spirit | M |
Were it to think that you should not inherit | M |
His love unto the Muses when his skill | L |
Almost you have or may have when you will | L |
Wherein wise Nature you a dowrie gave | N |
Worth an estate treble to that you have | O |
Beauty I know is good and blood is more | E |
Riches thought most But Madame think what store | E |
The world hath seene which all these had in trust | P |
And now lye lost in their forgotten dust | P |
It is the Muse alone can raise to heaven | C |
And at her strong armes end hold up and even | Q |
The soules she loves Those other glorious notes | G |
Inscrib'd in touch or marble or the cotes | G |
Painted or carv'd upon our great mens tombs | G |
Or in their windowes doe but prove the wombs | G |
That bred them graves when they were borne they dy'd | R |
That had no Muse to make their fame abide | R |
How many equall with the Argive Queene | Q |
Have beauty knowne yet none so famous seene | Q |
Achilles was not first that valiant was | G |
Or in an armies head that lockt in brasse | G |
Gave killing strokes There were brave men before | E |
Ajax or Idomen or all the store | E |
That Homer brought to Troy yet none so live | S |
Because they lack'd the sacred pen could give | T |
Like life unto 'hem Who heav'd Hercules | G |
Unto the starrs or the Tyndarides | G |
Who placed Jasons Argo in the skie | U |
Or set bright Ariadnes crowne so high | V |
Who made a lampe of Berenices hayre | E |
Or lifted Cassiopea in her chayre | E |
But only Poets rapt with rage divine | Q |
And such or my hopes faile shall make you shine | Q |
You and that other starre that purest light | W |
Of all Lucina's traine Lucy the bright | W |
Than which a nobler heaven it selfe knowes not | X |
Who though shee have a better Verser got | X |
Or Poet in the Court account than I | V |
And who doth me though I not him envy | Y |
Yet for the timely favours shee hath done | Q |
To my lesse sanguine Muse wherein she hath wonne | Q |
My gratefull soule the subject of her powers | G |
I have already us'd some happy houres | G |
To her remembrance which when time shall bring | U |
To curious light to notes I then shall sing | U |
Will prove old Orpheus Act no rule to be | Y |
For I shall move stocks stones no lesse than he | Y |
Then all that have but done my Muse least grace | G |
Shall thronging come and boast the happy place | G |
They hold in my strange poems which as yet | Z |
Had not their forme touch'd by an English wit | A2 |
There like a rich and golden Pyramede | A2 |
Borne up by statues shall I roare your head | A2 |
Above your under carved ornaments | G |
And show how to the life my soule presents | G |
Your forme imprest there not with tickling rimes | G |
Or Common places filch'd that take these times | G |
But high and noble matter such as flies | G |
From braines entranc'd and fill'd with extasies | G |
Moods which the god like Sydney oft did prove | B2 |
And your brave friend and mine so well did love | C2 |
Who wheresoere he be | Y |
Ben Jonson
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