The Knight And The Friar. Part First. - Sir Thomas Erpingham's[6] Sonnet On His Lady Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A BCBDEE FGFGHH IJIJKK LM NONO PQPQ RSRS TRTR RRRR RURU UUUU VV QRQR VVVV HURHUR SQSUUQ UWURWR XUXU RYRY UYYU ZA2B2C2 VUD2VD2U URRR RYRYVE2VE2 RURU F2YF2Y RHRRRH UUUU G2H2G2H2 I2Y UUVUV UU J2CK2C D2D2 UUUU HVVH UU UYUY YL2YL2 M2VM2V YUUY YHYH UVUV H2UH2UYY UUUU WWVVUU RRRR RN2RN2 UVUV RUUR UUVUVU VV VRVR M2

A
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Such star like lustre lights her EyesB
They must have darted from a SphereC
Our duller System to surpriseB
Outshining all the Planets hereD
And having wander'd from their wonted placeE
Fix in the wond'rous Heaven of her FaceE
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The modest Rose whose blushes speakF
The ardent kisses of the SunG
Off'ring a tribute to her CheekF
Droops to perceive its Tint outdoneG
Then withering with envy and despairH
Dies on her Lips and leaves its Fragrance thereH
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Ringlets that to her Breast descendI
Increase the beauties they invadeJ
Thus branches in luxuriance bendI
To grace the lovely Hills they shadeJ
And thus the glowing Climate did enticeK
Tendrils to curl unprune'd o'er ParadiseK
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Sir Thomas having close'd his love sick strainL
Come buxom Muse and let us frisk againM
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Close to a Chapel near the Castle gatesN
Dwelt certain stickers in the Devil's skirtsO
Who with prodigious fervour shave their patesN
And shew a most religious scorn for shirtsO
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Their House's sole Endowment was our Knight'sP
Thither an Abbot and twelve Friars retreatingQ
Conquer'd sage pious men their appetitesP
With that infallible specifick eatingQ
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'Twould seem since tenanted by holy FriarsR
That Peace and Harmony reign'd here eternallyS
Whoever told you so were cursed liarsR
The holy Friars quarrell'd most infernallyS
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Not a day pastT
Without some schism among these heavenly lodgersR
But none of their dissensions seem'd to lastT
So long as Friar John's and Friar Roger'sR
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I have been very accurate in my researchesR
And find this Convent truce with whys and howsR
Kept in a constant ferment with the rowsR
Of these two quarrelsome fat sons of ChurchesR
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But when Sir Thomas went to his devotionsR
Proceeding thro' their Cloister with his BrideU
You never could have dream'd of their commotionsR
The stiff rump'd rascals look'd so sanctifiedU
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And it became the custom of the KnightU
To go to matins every dayU
He jogg'd his Bride as soon as it was lightU
Crying my dear 'tis time for us to prayU
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This custom he establish'd very soonV
After his honey moonV
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Wives of this age might think his zeal surprisingQ
But much his pious lady did it pleaseR
To see her Husband every morning risingQ
And going instantly upon his kneesR
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Never I weenV
In any person's recollectionV
Was such a couple seenV
For genuflectionV
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Making as great a drudgery of prayerH
As humble Curates are oblige'd to doU
Whose labour wo the while scarce buys them cassocksR
And every morning whether foul or fairH
Sir Thomas and the Dame were in their pewU
Craw thumping upon hassocksR
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It could not otherwise befallS
Sir Thomas and his Wife this course pursuingQ
But that the Lady affable to allS
Should greet the Friars on her wayU
To matins as she met them every dayU
Good morninging and how d'ye doingQ
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Now nodding to this Friar now to thatU
As thro' the Cloister she was wont to tripW
Stopping sometimes to have a little chatU
On casual topicks with the holy brothersR
So condescending was her LadyshipW
To Roger John and all the othersR
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All this was natural enoughX
To any female of urbanityU
But holy men are made of as frail stuffX
As all the lighter sons of VanityU
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And these her Ladyship's chaste condescensionsR
In Friar John bred damnable desireY
Heterodox unclean intentionsR
Abominable in a FriarY
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Whene'er she greeted him his gills grew redU
While she was quite unconscious of the matterY
But he the beast was casting sheeps eyes at herY
Out of his bullock headU
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That coxcombs were and are I need not giveZ
Nor take the trouble now to proveA2
Nor that those dead like many now who liveB2
Have thought a Lady's condescension loveC2
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This happen'd with fat Friar JohnV
Monastick Coxcomb amorous and gummyU
Fill'd with conceit up to his very brimD2
He thought his guts and garbage doated onV
By a fair Dame whose Husband was to himD2
Hyperion to a mummyU
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Burning with flames the Lady never knewU
Hotter and heavier than toasted cheeseR
He sent her a much warmer billet douxR
Than Abelard e'er writ to Elo seR
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But whether Friar John's fat shape and faceR
Tho' pleading both togetherY
Were sorry advocates in such a caseR
Or whetherY
He marr'd his hopes by suffering his penV
With too much fervour to display 'emE2
As very tender Nurses now and thenV
Cuddle their Children till they overlay 'emE2
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'Twas plain his pray'r to decorate the browsR
Of good Sir Thomas was so far from grantedU
That the Dame went directly to her spouseR
And told him what the filthy Friar wantedU
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Think Reader think if thou hast ta'en for lifeF2
A partner to thy bed for worse or betterY
Think what Sir Thomas felt when his chaste wifeF2
Brandish'd before his eyes the Friar's letterY
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He felt Sir ZoundsR
Yes Zounds I say Sir for it makes me swearH
More torture than he suffer'd from the woundsR
He got among the French in FranceR
Not that I take upon me to advanceR
The knight was ever wounded thereH
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Think gravely Sir I pray fancy the KnightU
'Tis quite a Picture with his heart's delightU
Fancy you see his virtuous Lady standU
Holding the Friar's foulness in her handU
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How should Sir Thomas Sir behaveG2
Why bounce and sputter surely like a squibH2
You would have done the same Sir if a knaveG2
A frouzy Friar meddle'd with your RibH2
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His bosom almost burst with ireI2
Against the FriarY
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Rage gave his face an apoplectick hueU
His cheeks turn'd purple and his nose turn'd blueU
He swore with this mock Saint he'd soon be evenV
He'd have him flay'd like Saint BartholomewU
And now again he'd have him stone'd like StephenV
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But Ira furor brevis estU
As Horace quaintly has express'dU
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Therefore the Knight finding his foam and frothJ2
Work thro' the bung hole of his mouth like beerC
Pull'd out the vent peg of his wrathK2
To let the stream of his revenge run clearC
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Debating with himself what mode might suit himD2
To trounce the rogue who wanted to cornute himD2
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First an attack against his Foe he plann'dU
Learn'd in the Field where late he fought so fellyU
That is to march up bravely sword in handU
And run the Friar thro' his holy bellyU
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At last his better judgment did declareH
Seeing his honour would as little shineV
By sticking Friars as by killing swineV
To circumvent him by a ruse de guerreH
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And as the project ripen'd in his headU
Thus to his virtuous Wife he saidU
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Now sit thee down my Lady brightU
And list thy Lord's desireY
An assignation thou shalt writeU
Beshrew me to the FriarY
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Aread him at the midnight hourY
In silent sort to goL2
And bide thy coming in the BowerY
For there do Crabsticks growL2
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He shall not tarry long for whyM2
When Twelve have striking doneV
Then by the God of Gardens IM2
Will cudgel him till OneV
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The Lady wrote just what Sir Thomas told herY
For it is no less strange than trueU
That Wives did once what Husbands bid them doU
Lord how this World improves as we grow olderY
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She name'd the midnight hourY
Telling the Friar to repairH
To the sweet secret BowerY
But not a word of any crabsticks thereH
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Thus have I seen a liquorish black ratU
Lure'd by the Cook to sniff and smell her baconV
And when he's eager for a bit of fatU
Down goes a trap upon him and he's takenV
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A tiny Page for formerly a boyH2
Was a mere dunce who did not understandU
The doctrines of Sir Pandarus of TroyH2
Slipp'd the Dame's note into the Friar's handU
As he was walking in the cloisterY
And then slipp'd off as silent as an oysterY
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The Friar read the Friar chuckle'dU
For now the Farce's unities were rightU
Videlicet The Argument a CuckoldU
The Scene a Bow'r Time Twelve o'clock at nightU
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Blithe was fat John and dreading no mishapW
Stole at the hour appointed to the trapW
But so perfume'd so musk'd for the occasionV
His tribute to the nose so like invasionV
You would have sworn to smell him 'twas no ratU
But a dead putrified old civet catU
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He reach'd the spot anticipating blissesR
Soft murmurs melting sighs and burning kissesR
Trances of joy and mingling of the soulsR
When whack Sir Thomas hit him on the jolesR
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Now on his head it came now on his faceR
His neck and shoulders arms legs breast and backN2
In short on almost every placeR
We read of in the AlmanackN2
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Blows rattle'd on him thick as hailU
Making him rue the day that he was bornV
Sir Thomas plied his cudgel like a flailU
And thrash'd as if he had been thrashing cornV
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At length a thump painful the facts alasR
Truth urges us Historians to relateU
Took Friar John so smart athwart the pateU
It acted like a perfect coup de graceR
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Whether it was a random shotU
Or aim'd maliciously tho' Fame says notU
Certain his soul the Knight so crack'd his crownV
Fled from his body but which way it wentU
Or whether Friars' souls fly up or downV
Remains a matter of nice argumentU
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Points so abstruse I dare not dwell uponV
Enough for me his body is not goneV
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For I have business still in my narrationV
With the fat carcass of this holy porpusR
And Death tho' sharp in his AdministrationV
Never suspended such an Habeas CorpusR
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End Of Part IM2

George Colman



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