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 endA
Though toils and danger the bold task attendA
Heroes and gods make other poems fineB
Plain satire calls for sense in every lineB
Then to what swarms thy faults I dare exposeC
All friends to vice and folly are thy foesC
When such the foe a war eternal wageD
'Tis most ill nature to repress thy rageD
And if these strains some nobler muse exciteE
I'll glory in the verse I did not writeE
So weak are human kind by nature madeF
Or to such weakness by their vice betray'dF
Almighty vanity to thee they oweG
Their zest of pleasure and their balm of woeG
Thou like the sun all colours dost containH
Varying like rays of light on drops of rainH
For every soul finds reasons to be proudI
Tho' hiss'd and hooted by the pointing crowdI
Warm in pursuit of foxes and renownJ
Hippolitus demands the sylvan crownJ
But Florio's fame the product of a showerK
Grows in his garden an illustrious flowerK
Why teems the earth Why melt the vernal skiesL
Why shines the sun To make Paul Diack riseL
From morn to night has Florio gazing stoodM
And wonder'd how the gods could be so goodM
What shape what hue was ever nymph so fairN
He dotes he dies he too is rooted thereN
O solid bliss which nothing can destroyO
Except a cat bird snail or idle boyO
In fame's full bloom lies Florio down at nightE
And wakes next day a most inglorious wightE
The tulip's dead See thy fair sister's fateP
O C and be kind ere 'tis too lateP
Nor are those enemies I mention'd allQ
Beware O florist thy ambition's fallQ
A friend of mine indulg'd this noble flameR
A quaker serv'd him Adam was his nameR
To one lov'd tulip oft the master wentS
Hung o'er it and whole days in rapture spentS
But came and miss'd it one ill fated hourK
He rag'd he roar'd What demon cropt my flowerK
Serene quoth Adam Lo 'twas crusht by meT
Fall'n is the Baal to which thou bow'dst thy kneeT
But all men want amusement and what crimeU
In such a paradise to fool their timeU
None but why proud of this to fame they soarV
We grant they're idle if they'll ask no moreV
We smile at florists we despise their joyO
And think their hearts enamour'd of a toyO
But are those wiser whom we most admireW
Survey with envy and pursue with fireK
What's he who sighs for wealth or fame or powerK
Another Florio doting on a flowerK
A short liv'd flower and which has often sprungX
From sordid arts as Florio's out of dungX
With what O Codrus is thy fancy smitY
The flower of learning and the bloom of witY
The gaudy shelves with crimson bindings glowG
And Epictetus is a perfect beauG
How fit for thee bound up in crimson tooZ
Gilt and like them devoted to the viewZ
Thy books are furniture Methinks 'tis hardA2
That science should be purchas'd by the yardA2
And Tonson turn'd upholsterer send homeB2
The gilded leather to fit up thy roomC2
If not to some peculiar end design'dD2
Study's the specious trifling of the mindD2
Or is at best a secondary aimR
A chase for sport alone and not for gameR
If so sure they who the mere volume prizeL
But love the thicket where the quarry liesL
On buying books Lorenzo long was bentS
But found at length that it reduc'd his rentS
His farms were flown when lo a sale comes onE2
A choice collection what is to be doneF2
He sells his last for he the whole will buyG2
Sells ev'n his house nay wants whereon to lieG2
So high the gen'rous ardour of the manH2
For Romans Greeks and Orientals ranH2
When terms were drawn and brought him by the clerkI2
Lorenzo sign'd the bargain with his markJ2
Unlearned men of books assume the careN
As eunuchs are the guardians of the fairN
Not in his authors' liveries aloneK2
Is Codrus' erudite ambition shownK2
Editions various at high prices boughtL2
Inform the world what Codrus would be thoughtM2
And to his cost another must succeedN2
To pay a sage who says that he can readO2
Who titles knows and indexes has seenP2
But leaves to Chesterfield what lies betweenP2
Of pompous books who shuns the proud expenseQ2
And humbly is contented with their senseQ2
O Stanhope whose accomplishments make goodM
The promise of a long illustrious bloodR2
In arts and manners eminently grac'dS2
The strictest honour and the finest tasteS2
Accept this verse if satire can agreeT
With so consummate a humanityT
By your example would Hilario mendA
How would it grace the talents of my friendA
Who with the charms of his own genius smitY
Conceives all virtues are compris'd in witY
But time his fervent petulance may coolT2
For though he is a wit he is no foolT2
In time he'll learn to use not waste his senseQ2
Nor make a frailty of an excellenceU2
He spares nor friend nor foe but calls to mindD2
Like doomsday all the faults of all mankindD2
What though wit tickles tickling is unsafeV2
If still 'tis painful while it makes us laughW2
Who for the poor renown of being smartX2
Would leave a sting within a brother's heartX2
Parts may be prais'd good nature is ador'dY2
Then draw your wit as seldom as your swordY2
And never on the weak or you'll appearZ2
As there no hero no great genius hereA3
As in smooth oil the razor best is whetB3
So wit is by politeness sharpest setB3
Their want of edge from their offence is seenP2
Both pain us least when exquisitely keenP2
The fame men give is for the joy they findD2
Dull is the jester when the joke's unkindD2
Since Marcus doubtless thinks himself a witY
To pay my compliment what place so fitY
His most facetious letters came to handC3
Which my first satire sweetly reprimandC3
If that a just offence to Marcus gaveD3
Say Marcus which art thou a fool or knaveD3
For all but such with caution I forboreA3
That thou wast either I ne'er knew beforeA3
I know thee now both what thou art and whoZ
No mask so good but Marcus must shine throughZ
False names are vain thy lines their author tellE3
Thy best concealment had been writing wellE3
But thou a brave neglect of fame hast shownK2
Of others' fame great genius and thy ownK2
Write on unheeded and this maxim knowG
The man who pardons disappoints his foeG
In malice to proud wits some proudly lullF3
Their peevish reason vain of being dullF3
When some home joke has stung their solemn soulsG3
In vengeance they determine to be foolsH3
Through spleen that little nature gave make lessI3
Quite zealous in the way of heavinessI3
To lumps inanimate a fondness takeJ3
And disinherit sons that are awakeJ3
These when their utmost venom they would spitY
Most barbarously tell you He's a witY
Poor negroes thus to show their burning spiteE
To cacodemons say they're dev'lish whiteE
Lampridius from the bottom of his breastK3
Sighs o'er one child but triumphs in the restK3
How just his grief one carries in his headO2
A less proportion of the father's leadO2
And is in danger without special graceI3
To rise above a justice of the peaceI3
The dunghill breed of men a diamond scornL3
And feel a passion for a grain of cornL3
Some stupid plodding monkey loving wightE
Who wins their hearts by knowing black from whiteE
Who with much pains exerting all his senseI3
Can range aright his shillings pounds and penceI3
The booby father craves a booby sonF2
And by heaven's blessing thinks himself undoneF2
Wants of all kinds are made to fame a pleaT
One learns to lisp another not to seeT
Miss D tottering catches at your handC3
Was ever thing so pretty born to standC3
Whilst these what nature gave disown through prideM3
Others affect what nature has deniedM3
What nature has denied fools will pursueI3
As apes are ever walking upon twoI3
Crassus a grateful sage our awe and sportN3
Supports grave forms for forms the sage supportN3
He hems and cries with an important airA3
If yonder clouds withdraw it will be fairA3
Then quotes the Stagyrite to prove it trueI3
And adds The learn'd delight in something newI3
Is't not enough the blockhead scarce can readO2
But must he wisely look and gravely pleadN2
As far a formalist from wisdom sitsI3
In judging eyes as libertines from witsI3
These subtle wights so blind are mortal menO3
Though satire couch them with her keenest penO3
For ever will hang out a solemn faceI3
To put off nonsense with a better graceI3
As pedlers with some hero's head make boldP3
Illustrious mark where pins are to be soldP3
What's the bent brow or neck in thought reclin'dD2
The body's wisdom to conceal the mindD2
A man of sense can artifice disdainH
As men of wealth may venture to go plainH
And be this truth eternal ne'er forgotL2
Solemnity's a cover for a sotM2
I find the fool when I behold the screenP2
For 'tis the wise man's interest to be seenP2
Hence Chesterfield that openness of heartX2
And just disdain for that poor mimic artX2
Hence manly praise that manner nobly freeT
Which all admire and I commend in theeT
With generous scorn how oft hast thou survey'dF
Of court and town the noontide masqueradeF
Where swarms of knaves the vizor quite disgraceI3
And hide secure behind a naked faceI3
Where nature's end of language is declin'dD2
And men talk only to conceal the mindD2
Where gen'rous hearts the greatest hazard runF2
And he who trusts a brother is undoneF2
These all their care expend on outward showG
For wealth and fame for fame alone the beauG
Of late at White's was young Florello seenP2
How blank his look how discompos'd his mienP2
So hard it proves in grief sincere to feignH
Sunk were his spirits for his coat was plainH
Next day his breast regain'd its wonted peaceI3
His health was mended with a silver laceI3
A curious artist long inur'd to toilsI3
Of gentler sort with combs and fragrant oilsI3
Whether by chance or by some god inspir'dQ3
So touch'd his curls his mighty soul was fir'dQ3
The well swoln ties an equal homage claimR
And either shoulder has its share of fameR
His sumptuous watch case tho' conceal'd it liesI3
Like a good conscience solid joy suppliesI3
He only thinks himself so far from vainH
Stanhope in wit in breeding DeloraineH
Whene'er by seeming chance he throws his eyeG2
On mirrors that reflect his Tyrian dyeG2
With how sublime a transport leaps his heartX2
But fate ordains that dearest friends must partX2
In active measures brought from France he wheelsI3
And triumphs conscious of his learned heelsI3
So have I seen on some bright summer's dayR3
A calf of genius debonnair and gayR3
Dance on the bank as if inspir'd by fameR
Fond of the pretty fellow in the streamS3
Morose is sunk with shame whene'er surpris'dT3
In linen clean or peruke undisguis'dT3
No sublunary chance his vestments fearA3
Valu'd like leopards as their spots appearA3
A fam'd surtout he wears which once was blueI3
And his foot swims in a capacious shoeI3
One day his wife for who can wives reclaimR
Levell'd her barb'rous needle at his fameR
But open force was vain by night she wentS
And while he slept surpris'd the darling rentS
Where yawn'd the frieze is now become a doubtU3
And glory at one entrance quite shut outU3
He scorns Florello and Florello himV3
This hates the filthy creature that the primV3
Thus in each other both these fools despiseI3
Their own dear selves with undiscerning eyesI3
Their methods various but alike their aimR
The sloven and the fopling are the sameR
Ye whigs and tories thus it fares with youI3
When party rage too warmly you pursueI3
Then both club nonsense and impetuous prideM3
And folly joins whom sentiments divideM3
You vent your spleen as monkeys when they passI3
Scratch at the mimic monkey in the glassI3
While both are one and henceforth be it knownH
Fools of both sides shall stand for fools aloneH
But who art thou methinks Florello criesI3
Of all thy species art thou only wiseI3
Since smallest things can give our sins a twitchW3
As crossing straws retard a passing witchW3
Florello thou my monitor shalt beT
I'll conjure thus some profit out of theeT
O thou myself abroad our counsels roamB2
And like ill husbands take no care at homeB2
Thou too art wounded with the common dartX2
And love of fame lies throbbing at thy heartX2
And what wise means to gain it hast thou choseI3
Know fame and fortune both are made of proseI3
Is thy ambition sweating for a rhymeU
Thou unambitious fool at this late timeU
While I a moment name a moment's pastX3
I'm nearer death in this verse than the lastX3
What then is to be done Be wise with speedN2
A fool at forty is a fool indeedN2
And what so foolish as the chance of fameR
How vain the prize how impotent our aimR
For what are men who grasp at praise sublimeU
But bubbles on the rapid stream of timeU
That rise and fall that swell and are no moreA3
Born and forgot ten thousand in an hourA3

Edward Young



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