Mr. Francis Beaumont's Letter To Ben Jonson Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABCDDEEFFGHEEIJKKLL EEEEMMIINNOOPPQQMM RSNNTUKKNNHVWWXHEEYY ZZAAQQWWPPEEA2A2B2FZ WWW| The sun which doth the greatest comfort bring | A |
| To absent friends because the self same thing | A |
| They know they see however absent is | B |
| Here our best hay maker forgive me this | C |
| It is our country style in this warm shine | D |
| I lie and dream of your full Mermaid wine | D |
| Oh we have water mixed with claret lees | E |
| Drink apt to bring in drier heresies | E |
| Than beer good only for the sonnet strain | F |
| With fustian metaphors to stuff the brain | F |
| So mixed that given to the thirstiest one | G |
| 'Twill not prove alms unless he have the stone | H |
| I think with one draught man's invention fades | E |
| Two cups had quite marred Homer's Iliads | E |
| 'Tis liquor that will find out Sutcliffe's wit | I |
| Lie where it will and make him write worse yet | J |
| Filled with such moisture in a grievous qualm | K |
| Did Robert Wisdom write his singing psalm | K |
| And so must I do this and yet I think | L |
| It is a potion sent us down to drink | L |
| By special providence keeps us from fights | E |
| Makes us not laugh when we make legs to knights | E |
| 'Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our states | E |
| A med'cine to obey our magistrates | E |
| For we do live more free than you no hate | M |
| No envy of another's happy state | M |
| Moves us we are all equal every whit | I |
| Of land that God gives men here is their wit | I |
| If we consider fully for our best | N |
| And gravest man will with his main house jest | N |
| Scarce please you we want subtlety to do | O |
| The city tricks lie hate and flatter too | O |
| Here are none that can bear a painted show | P |
| Strike when you wink and then lament the blow | P |
| Who like mills set the right way to grind | Q |
| Can make their gains alike with every wind | Q |
| Only some fellow with the subtlest pate | M |
| Amongst us may perchance equivocate | M |
| - | |
| At selling of a horse and that's the most | R |
| Methinks the little wit I had is lost | S |
| Since I saw you for wit is like a rest | N |
| Held up at tennis which men do the best | N |
| With the best gamesters What things have we seen | T |
| Done at the Mermaid heard words that have been | U |
| So nimble and so full of subtle flame | K |
| As if that everyone from whence they came | K |
| Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest | N |
| And had resolved to live a fool the rest | N |
| Of his dull life then when there has been thrown | H |
| Wit able enough to justify the town | V |
| For three days past wit that might warrant be | W |
| For the whole city to talk foolishly | W |
| Till that were cancelled and when we were gone | X |
| We left an air behind which was alone | H |
| Able to make the two next companies | E |
| Right witty though they were downright cockneys | E |
| When I remember this and see that now | Y |
| The country gentlemen begin to allow | Y |
| My wit for dry bobs then I needs must cry | Z |
| I see my days of ballading are nigh | Z |
| I can already riddle and can sing | A |
| Catches sell bargains and I fear shall bring | A |
| Myself to speak the hardest words I find | Q |
| Over as fast as any with one wind | Q |
| That takes no medicines But one thought of thee | W |
| Makes me remember all these things to be | W |
| The wit of our young men fellows that show | P |
| No part of good yet utter all they know | P |
| Who like trees and the guard have growing souls | E |
| Only strong destiny which all controls | E |
| I hope hath left a better fate in store | A2 |
| For me thy friend than to live evermore | A2 |
| Banished unto this home 'twill once again | B2 |
| Bring me to thee who wilt make smooth and plain | F |
| The way of knowledge for me and then I | Z |
| Who have no good in me but simplicity | W |
| Know that it will my greatest comfort be | W |
| To acknowledge all the rest to come from thee | W |
Francis Beaumont
(1)
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Mr. Francis Beaumont's Letter To Ben Jonson is a poem by Francis Beaumont. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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