Love Of Fame, The Universal Passion. Satire Ii Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHIIJJ KKLLMMNNOOEEPPQQRRSS KKTTUUVVOOWKKKXXYYGG ZZA2A2B2C2D2D2RRLLSS E2F2G2G2H2H2I2J2NNK2 K2L2M2N2O2P2P2Q2Q2MR 2S2S2TTAAYYT2T2Q2U2D 2D2V2W2X2X2Y2Y2Z2A3B 3B3P2P2D2D2YYC3C3D3D 3A3A3ZZE3E3K2K2GGF3F 3G3H3I3I3J3J3YYEEK3K 3O2O2I3I3L3L3EEI3I3F 2F2TTC3C3M3M3I3I3N3N 3A3A3I3I3O2N2I3I3O3O 3I3I3P3P3D2D2HHL2M2P 2P2X2X2TTFFI3I3D2D2F 2F2GGP2P2HHI3I3I3I3Q 3Q3RRI3I3HHG2G2X2X2I 3I3R3R3RS3T3T3A3A3I3 I3RRSSU3U3V3V3I3I3RR I3I3M3M3I3I3HHI3I3W3 W3TTB2B2X2X2I3I3UUX3 X3N2N2RRUUA3A3| My muse proceed and reach thy destin'd end | A |
| Though toils and danger the bold task attend | A |
| Heroes and gods make other poems fine | B |
| Plain satire calls for sense in every line | B |
| Then to what swarms thy faults I dare expose | C |
| All friends to vice and folly are thy foes | C |
| When such the foe a war eternal wage | D |
| 'Tis most ill nature to repress thy rage | D |
| And if these strains some nobler muse excite | E |
| I'll glory in the verse I did not write | E |
| So weak are human kind by nature made | F |
| Or to such weakness by their vice betray'd | F |
| Almighty vanity to thee they owe | G |
| Their zest of pleasure and their balm of woe | G |
| Thou like the sun all colours dost contain | H |
| Varying like rays of light on drops of rain | H |
| For every soul finds reasons to be proud | I |
| Tho' hiss'd and hooted by the pointing crowd | I |
| Warm in pursuit of foxes and renown | J |
| Hippolitus demands the sylvan crown | J |
| But Florio's fame the product of a shower | K |
| Grows in his garden an illustrious flower | K |
| Why teems the earth Why melt the vernal skies | L |
| Why shines the sun To make Paul Diack rise | L |
| From morn to night has Florio gazing stood | M |
| And wonder'd how the gods could be so good | M |
| What shape what hue was ever nymph so fair | N |
| He dotes he dies he too is rooted there | N |
| O solid bliss which nothing can destroy | O |
| Except a cat bird snail or idle boy | O |
| In fame's full bloom lies Florio down at night | E |
| And wakes next day a most inglorious wight | E |
| The tulip's dead See thy fair sister's fate | P |
| O C and be kind ere 'tis too late | P |
| Nor are those enemies I mention'd all | Q |
| Beware O florist thy ambition's fall | Q |
| A friend of mine indulg'd this noble flame | R |
| A quaker serv'd him Adam was his name | R |
| To one lov'd tulip oft the master went | S |
| Hung o'er it and whole days in rapture spent | S |
| But came and miss'd it one ill fated hour | K |
| He rag'd he roar'd What demon cropt my flower | K |
| Serene quoth Adam Lo 'twas crusht by me | T |
| Fall'n is the Baal to which thou bow'dst thy knee | T |
| But all men want amusement and what crime | U |
| In such a paradise to fool their time | U |
| None but why proud of this to fame they soar | V |
| We grant they're idle if they'll ask no more | V |
| We smile at florists we despise their joy | O |
| And think their hearts enamour'd of a toy | O |
| But are those wiser whom we most admire | W |
| Survey with envy and pursue with fire | K |
| What's he who sighs for wealth or fame or power | K |
| Another Florio doting on a flower | K |
| A short liv'd flower and which has often sprung | X |
| From sordid arts as Florio's out of dung | X |
| With what O Codrus is thy fancy smit | Y |
| The flower of learning and the bloom of wit | Y |
| The gaudy shelves with crimson bindings glow | G |
| And Epictetus is a perfect beau | G |
| How fit for thee bound up in crimson too | Z |
| Gilt and like them devoted to the view | Z |
| Thy books are furniture Methinks 'tis hard | A2 |
| That science should be purchas'd by the yard | A2 |
| And Tonson turn'd upholsterer send home | B2 |
| The gilded leather to fit up thy room | C2 |
| If not to some peculiar end design'd | D2 |
| Study's the specious trifling of the mind | D2 |
| Or is at best a secondary aim | R |
| A chase for sport alone and not for game | R |
| If so sure they who the mere volume prize | L |
| But love the thicket where the quarry lies | L |
| On buying books Lorenzo long was bent | S |
| But found at length that it reduc'd his rent | S |
| His farms were flown when lo a sale comes on | E2 |
| A choice collection what is to be done | F2 |
| He sells his last for he the whole will buy | G2 |
| Sells ev'n his house nay wants whereon to lie | G2 |
| So high the gen'rous ardour of the man | H2 |
| For Romans Greeks and Orientals ran | H2 |
| When terms were drawn and brought him by the clerk | I2 |
| Lorenzo sign'd the bargain with his mark | J2 |
| Unlearned men of books assume the care | N |
| As eunuchs are the guardians of the fair | N |
| Not in his authors' liveries alone | K2 |
| Is Codrus' erudite ambition shown | K2 |
| Editions various at high prices bought | L2 |
| Inform the world what Codrus would be thought | M2 |
| And to his cost another must succeed | N2 |
| To pay a sage who says that he can read | O2 |
| Who titles knows and indexes has seen | P2 |
| But leaves to Chesterfield what lies between | P2 |
| Of pompous books who shuns the proud expense | Q2 |
| And humbly is contented with their sense | Q2 |
| O Stanhope whose accomplishments make good | M |
| The promise of a long illustrious blood | R2 |
| In arts and manners eminently grac'd | S2 |
| The strictest honour and the finest taste | S2 |
| Accept this verse if satire can agree | T |
| With so consummate a humanity | T |
| By your example would Hilario mend | A |
| How would it grace the talents of my friend | A |
| Who with the charms of his own genius smit | Y |
| Conceives all virtues are compris'd in wit | Y |
| But time his fervent petulance may cool | T2 |
| For though he is a wit he is no fool | T2 |
| In time he'll learn to use not waste his sense | Q2 |
| Nor make a frailty of an excellence | U2 |
| He spares nor friend nor foe but calls to mind | D2 |
| Like doomsday all the faults of all mankind | D2 |
| What though wit tickles tickling is unsafe | V2 |
| If still 'tis painful while it makes us laugh | W2 |
| Who for the poor renown of being smart | X2 |
| Would leave a sting within a brother's heart | X2 |
| Parts may be prais'd good nature is ador'd | Y2 |
| Then draw your wit as seldom as your sword | Y2 |
| And never on the weak or you'll appear | Z2 |
| As there no hero no great genius here | A3 |
| As in smooth oil the razor best is whet | B3 |
| So wit is by politeness sharpest set | B3 |
| Their want of edge from their offence is seen | P2 |
| Both pain us least when exquisitely keen | P2 |
| The fame men give is for the joy they find | D2 |
| Dull is the jester when the joke's unkind | D2 |
| Since Marcus doubtless thinks himself a wit | Y |
| To pay my compliment what place so fit | Y |
| His most facetious letters came to hand | C3 |
| Which my first satire sweetly reprimand | C3 |
| If that a just offence to Marcus gave | D3 |
| Say Marcus which art thou a fool or knave | D3 |
| For all but such with caution I forbore | A3 |
| That thou wast either I ne'er knew before | A3 |
| I know thee now both what thou art and who | Z |
| No mask so good but Marcus must shine through | Z |
| False names are vain thy lines their author tell | E3 |
| Thy best concealment had been writing well | E3 |
| But thou a brave neglect of fame hast shown | K2 |
| Of others' fame great genius and thy own | K2 |
| Write on unheeded and this maxim know | G |
| The man who pardons disappoints his foe | G |
| In malice to proud wits some proudly lull | F3 |
| Their peevish reason vain of being dull | F3 |
| When some home joke has stung their solemn souls | G3 |
| In vengeance they determine to be fools | H3 |
| Through spleen that little nature gave make less | I3 |
| Quite zealous in the way of heaviness | I3 |
| To lumps inanimate a fondness take | J3 |
| And disinherit sons that are awake | J3 |
| These when their utmost venom they would spit | Y |
| Most barbarously tell you He's a wit | Y |
| Poor negroes thus to show their burning spite | E |
| To cacodemons say they're dev'lish white | E |
| Lampridius from the bottom of his breast | K3 |
| Sighs o'er one child but triumphs in the rest | K3 |
| How just his grief one carries in his head | O2 |
| A less proportion of the father's lead | O2 |
| And is in danger without special grace | I3 |
| To rise above a justice of the peace | I3 |
| The dunghill breed of men a diamond scorn | L3 |
| And feel a passion for a grain of corn | L3 |
| Some stupid plodding monkey loving wight | E |
| Who wins their hearts by knowing black from white | E |
| Who with much pains exerting all his sense | I3 |
| Can range aright his shillings pounds and pence | I3 |
| The booby father craves a booby son | F2 |
| And by heaven's blessing thinks himself undone | F2 |
| Wants of all kinds are made to fame a plea | T |
| One learns to lisp another not to see | T |
| Miss D tottering catches at your hand | C3 |
| Was ever thing so pretty born to stand | C3 |
| Whilst these what nature gave disown through pride | M3 |
| Others affect what nature has denied | M3 |
| What nature has denied fools will pursue | I3 |
| As apes are ever walking upon two | I3 |
| Crassus a grateful sage our awe and sport | N3 |
| Supports grave forms for forms the sage support | N3 |
| He hems and cries with an important air | A3 |
| If yonder clouds withdraw it will be fair | A3 |
| Then quotes the Stagyrite to prove it true | I3 |
| And adds The learn'd delight in something new | I3 |
| Is't not enough the blockhead scarce can read | O2 |
| But must he wisely look and gravely plead | N2 |
| As far a formalist from wisdom sits | I3 |
| In judging eyes as libertines from wits | I3 |
| These subtle wights so blind are mortal men | O3 |
| Though satire couch them with her keenest pen | O3 |
| For ever will hang out a solemn face | I3 |
| To put off nonsense with a better grace | I3 |
| As pedlers with some hero's head make bold | P3 |
| Illustrious mark where pins are to be sold | P3 |
| What's the bent brow or neck in thought reclin'd | D2 |
| The body's wisdom to conceal the mind | D2 |
| A man of sense can artifice disdain | H |
| As men of wealth may venture to go plain | H |
| And be this truth eternal ne'er forgot | L2 |
| Solemnity's a cover for a sot | M2 |
| I find the fool when I behold the screen | P2 |
| For 'tis the wise man's interest to be seen | P2 |
| Hence Chesterfield that openness of heart | X2 |
| And just disdain for that poor mimic art | X2 |
| Hence manly praise that manner nobly free | T |
| Which all admire and I commend in thee | T |
| With generous scorn how oft hast thou survey'd | F |
| Of court and town the noontide masquerade | F |
| Where swarms of knaves the vizor quite disgrace | I3 |
| And hide secure behind a naked face | I3 |
| Where nature's end of language is declin'd | D2 |
| And men talk only to conceal the mind | D2 |
| Where gen'rous hearts the greatest hazard run | F2 |
| And he who trusts a brother is undone | F2 |
| These all their care expend on outward show | G |
| For wealth and fame for fame alone the beau | G |
| Of late at White's was young Florello seen | P2 |
| How blank his look how discompos'd his mien | P2 |
| So hard it proves in grief sincere to feign | H |
| Sunk were his spirits for his coat was plain | H |
| Next day his breast regain'd its wonted peace | I3 |
| His health was mended with a silver lace | I3 |
| A curious artist long inur'd to toils | I3 |
| Of gentler sort with combs and fragrant oils | I3 |
| Whether by chance or by some god inspir'd | Q3 |
| So touch'd his curls his mighty soul was fir'd | Q3 |
| The well swoln ties an equal homage claim | R |
| And either shoulder has its share of fame | R |
| His sumptuous watch case tho' conceal'd it lies | I3 |
| Like a good conscience solid joy supplies | I3 |
| He only thinks himself so far from vain | H |
| Stanhope in wit in breeding Deloraine | H |
| Whene'er by seeming chance he throws his eye | G2 |
| On mirrors that reflect his Tyrian dye | G2 |
| With how sublime a transport leaps his heart | X2 |
| But fate ordains that dearest friends must part | X2 |
| In active measures brought from France he wheels | I3 |
| And triumphs conscious of his learned heels | I3 |
| So have I seen on some bright summer's day | R3 |
| A calf of genius debonnair and gay | R3 |
| Dance on the bank as if inspir'd by fame | R |
| Fond of the pretty fellow in the stream | S3 |
| Morose is sunk with shame whene'er surpris'd | T3 |
| In linen clean or peruke undisguis'd | T3 |
| No sublunary chance his vestments fear | A3 |
| Valu'd like leopards as their spots appear | A3 |
| A fam'd surtout he wears which once was blue | I3 |
| And his foot swims in a capacious shoe | I3 |
| One day his wife for who can wives reclaim | R |
| Levell'd her barb'rous needle at his fame | R |
| But open force was vain by night she went | S |
| And while he slept surpris'd the darling rent | S |
| Where yawn'd the frieze is now become a doubt | U3 |
| And glory at one entrance quite shut out | U3 |
| He scorns Florello and Florello him | V3 |
| This hates the filthy creature that the prim | V3 |
| Thus in each other both these fools despise | I3 |
| Their own dear selves with undiscerning eyes | I3 |
| Their methods various but alike their aim | R |
| The sloven and the fopling are the same | R |
| Ye whigs and tories thus it fares with you | I3 |
| When party rage too warmly you pursue | I3 |
| Then both club nonsense and impetuous pride | M3 |
| And folly joins whom sentiments divide | M3 |
| You vent your spleen as monkeys when they pass | I3 |
| Scratch at the mimic monkey in the glass | I3 |
| While both are one and henceforth be it known | H |
| Fools of both sides shall stand for fools alone | H |
| But who art thou methinks Florello cries | I3 |
| Of all thy species art thou only wise | I3 |
| Since smallest things can give our sins a twitch | W3 |
| As crossing straws retard a passing witch | W3 |
| Florello thou my monitor shalt be | T |
| I'll conjure thus some profit out of thee | T |
| O thou myself abroad our counsels roam | B2 |
| And like ill husbands take no care at home | B2 |
| Thou too art wounded with the common dart | X2 |
| And love of fame lies throbbing at thy heart | X2 |
| And what wise means to gain it hast thou chose | I3 |
| Know fame and fortune both are made of prose | I3 |
| Is thy ambition sweating for a rhyme | U |
| Thou unambitious fool at this late time | U |
| While I a moment name a moment's past | X3 |
| I'm nearer death in this verse than the last | X3 |
| What then is to be done Be wise with speed | N2 |
| A fool at forty is a fool indeed | N2 |
| And what so foolish as the chance of fame | R |
| How vain the prize how impotent our aim | R |
| For what are men who grasp at praise sublime | U |
| But bubbles on the rapid stream of time | U |
| That rise and fall that swell and are no more | A3 |
| Born and forgot ten thousand in an hour | A3 |
Edward Young
(1)
Poem topics: , Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
About Love Of Fame, The Universal Passion. Satire Ii
Love Of Fame, The Universal Passion. Satire Ii is a poem by Edward Young. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.