Dedication To Churchill's Sermons. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABCDDEEBCFFGGHHIIJJ KKLMNNOOPPEEQQDDRREE RRSSTTUUDDVVSSEEWWAA XXYWZZA2A2RRB2B2C2C2 RRD2D2COE2E2F2F2G2G2 H2H2PPI2I2J2J2K2K2RR L2L2DDM2M2H2H2AAN2O2 IIJJP2P2Q2Q2E2E2R2R2 RRS2S2NNT2T2AAU2U2V2 V2PPGGRRF2F2W2W2AAF2 F2X2X2F2F2D2D2Y2Y2Z2 Z2IIA3A3B3B3IIUUJ2J2 S2S2RRQQUU

Health to great Glo'ster from a man unknownA
Who holds thy health as dearly as his ownA
Accept this greeting nor let modest fearB
Call up one maiden blush I mean not hereC
To wound with flattery 'tis a villain's artD
And suits not with the frankness of my heartD
Truth best becomes an orthodox divineE
And spite of Hell that character is mineE
To speak e'en bitter truths I cannot fearB
But truth my lord is panegyric hereC
Health to great Glo'ster nor through love of easeF
Which all priests love let this address displeaseF
I ask no favour not one note I craveG
And when this busy brain rests in the graveG
For till that time it never can have restH
I will not trouble you with one bequestH
Some humbler friend my mortal journey doneI
More near in blood a nephew or a sonI
In that dread hour executor I'll leaveJ
For I alas have many to receiveJ
To give but little To great Glo'ster healthK
Nor let thy true and proper love of wealthK
Here take a false alarm in purse though poorL
In spirit I'm right proud nor can endureM
The mention of a bribe thy pocket's freeN
I though a dedicator scorn a feeN
Let thy own offspring all thy fortunes shareO
I would not Allen rob nor Allen's heirO
Think not a thought unworthy thy great soulP
Which pomps of this world never could controlP
Which never offer'd up at Power's vain shrineE
Think not that pomp and power can work on mineE
'Tis not thy name though that indeed is greatQ
'Tis not the tinsel trumpery of stateQ
'Tis not thy title Doctor though thou artD
'Tis not thy mitre which hath won my heartD
State is a farce names are but empty thingsR
Degrees are bought and by mistaken kingsR
Titles are oft misplaced mitres which shineE
So bright in other eyes are dull in mineE
Unless set off by virtue who deceivesR
Under the sacred sanction of lawn sleevesR
Enhances guilt commits a double sinS
So fair without and yet so foul withinS
'Tis not thy outward form thy easy mienT
Thy sweet complacency thy brow sereneT
Thy open front thy love commanding eyeU
Where fifty Cupids as in ambush lieU
Which can from sixty to sixteen impartD
The force of Love and point his blunted dartD
'Tis not thy face though that by Nature's madeV
An index to thy soul though there display'dV
We see thy mind at large and through thy skinS
Peeps out that courtesy which dwells withinS
'Tis not thy birth for that is low as mineE
Around our heads no lineal glories shineE
But what is birth when to delight mankindW
Heralds can make those arms they cannot findW
When thou art to thyself thy sire unknownA
A whole Welsh genealogy aloneA
No 'tis thy inward man thy proper worthX
Thy right just estimation here on earthX
Thy life and doctrine uniformly join'dY
And flowing from that wholesome source thy mindW
Thy known contempt of Persecution's rodZ
Thy charity for man thy love of GodZ
Thy faith in Christ so well approved 'mongst menA2
Which now give life and utterance to my penA2
Thy virtue not thy rank demands my laysR
'Tis not the Bishop but the Saint I praiseR
Raised by that theme I soar on wings more strongB2
And burst forth into praise withheld too longB2
Much did I wish e'en whilst I kept those sheepC2
Which for my curse I was ordain'd to keepC2
Ordain'd alas to keep through need not choiceR
Those sheep which never heard their shepherd's voiceR
Which did not know yet would not learn their wayD2
Which stray'd themselves yet grieved that I should strayD2
Those sheep which my good father on his bierC
Let filial duty drop the pious tearO
Kept well yet starved himself e'en at that timeE2
Whilst I was pure and innocent of rhymeE2
Whilst sacred Dulness ever in my viewF2
Sleep at my bidding crept from pew to pewF2
Much did I wish though little could I hopeG2
A friend in him who was the friend of PopeG2
His hand said I my youthful steps shall guideH2
And lead me safe where thousands fall besideH2
His temper his experience shall controlP
And hush to peace the tempest of my soulP
His judgment teach me from the critic schoolI2
How not to err and how to err by ruleI2
Instruct me mingle profit with delightJ2
Where Pope was wrong where Shakspeare was not rightJ2
Where they are justly praised and where through whimK2
How little's due to them how much to himK2
Raised 'bove the slavery of common rulesR
Of common sense of modern ancient schoolsR
Those feelings banish'd which mislead us allL2
Fools as we are and which we Nature callL2
He by his great example might impartD
A better something and baptize it ArtD
He all the feelings of my youth forgotM2
Might show me what is taste by what is notM2
By him supported with a proper prideH2
I might hold all mankind as fools besideH2
He should a world perverse and peevish grownA
Explode his maxims and assert their ownA
Might teach me like himself to be contentN2
And let their folly be their punishmentO2
Might like himself teach his adopted sonI
'Gainst all the world to quote a WarburtonI
Fool that I was could I so much deceiveJ
My soul with lying hopes could I believeJ
That he the servant of his Maker swornP2
The servant of his Saviour would be tornP2
From their embrace and leave that dear employQ2
The cure of souls his duty and his joyQ2
For toys like mine and waste his precious timeE2
On which so much depended for a rhymeE2
Should he forsake the task he undertookR2
Desert his flock and break his pastoral crookR2
Should he forbid it Heaven so high in placeR
So rich in knowledge quit the work of graceR
And idly wandering o'er the Muses' hillS2
Let the salvation of mankind stand stillS2
Far far be that from thee yes far from theeN
Be such revolt from grace and far from meN
The will to think it guilt is in the thoughtT2
Not so not so hath Warburton been taughtT2
Not so learn'd Christ Recall that day well knownA
When to maintain God's honour and his ownA
He call'd blasphemers forth methinks I nowU2
See stern Rebuke enthroned on his browU2
And arm'd with tenfold terrors from his tongueV2
Where fiery zeal and Christian fury hungV2
Methinks I hear the deep toned thunders rollP
And chill with horror every sinner's soulP
In vain they strive to fly flight cannot saveG
And Potter trembles even in his graveG
With all the conscious pride of innocenceR
Methinks I hear him in his own defenceR
Bear witness to himself whilst all men knewF2
By gospel rules his witness to be trueF2
O glorious man thy zeal I must commendW2
Though it deprived me of my dearest friendW2
The real motives of thy anger knownA
Wilkes must the justice of that anger ownA
And could thy bosom have been bared to viewF2
Pitied himself in turn had pitied youF2
Bred to the law you wisely took the gownX2
Which I like Demas foolishly laid downX2
Hence double strength our Holy Mother drewF2
Me she got rid of and made prize of youF2
I like an idle truant fond of playD2
Doting on toys and throwing gems awayD2
Grasping at shadows let the substance slipY2
But you my lord renounced attorneyshipY2
With better purpose and more noble aimZ2
And wisely played a more substantial gameZ2
Nor did Law mourn bless'd in her younger sonI
For Mansfield does what Glo'ster would have doneI
Doctor Dean Bishop Glo'ster and My LordA3
If haply these high titles may accordA3
With thy meek spirit if the barren soundB3
Of pride delights thee to the topmost roundB3
Of Fortune's ladder got despise not oneI
For want of smooth hypocrisy undoneI
Who far below turns up his wondering eyeU
And without envy sees thee placed so highU
Let not thy brain as brains less potent mightJ2
Dizzy confounded giddy with the heightJ2
Turn round and lose distinction lose her skillS2
And wonted powers of knowing good from illS2
Of sifting truth from falsehood friends from foesR
Let Glo'ster well remember how he roseR
Nor turn his back on men who made him greatQ
Let him not gorged with power and drunk with stateQ
Forget what once he was though now so highU
How low how mean and full as poor as IU

Charles Churchill



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