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 M2A | |
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Such star like lustre lights her Eyes | B |
They must have darted from a Sphere | C |
Our duller System to surprise | B |
Outshining all the Planets here | D |
And having wander'd from their wonted place | E |
Fix in the wond'rous Heaven of her Face | E |
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The modest Rose whose blushes speak | F |
The ardent kisses of the Sun | G |
Off'ring a tribute to her Cheek | F |
Droops to perceive its Tint outdone | G |
Then withering with envy and despair | H |
Dies on her Lips and leaves its Fragrance there | H |
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Ringlets that to her Breast descend | I |
Increase the beauties they invade | J |
Thus branches in luxuriance bend | I |
To grace the lovely Hills they shade | J |
And thus the glowing Climate did entice | K |
Tendrils to curl unprune'd o'er Paradise | K |
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Sir Thomas having close'd his love sick strain | L |
Come buxom Muse and let us frisk again | M |
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Close to a Chapel near the Castle gates | N |
Dwelt certain stickers in the Devil's skirts | O |
Who with prodigious fervour shave their pates | N |
And shew a most religious scorn for shirts | O |
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Their House's sole Endowment was our Knight's | P |
Thither an Abbot and twelve Friars retreating | Q |
Conquer'd sage pious men their appetites | P |
With that infallible specifick eating | Q |
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'Twould seem since tenanted by holy Friars | R |
That Peace and Harmony reign'd here eternally | S |
Whoever told you so were cursed liars | R |
The holy Friars quarrell'd most infernally | S |
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Not a day past | T |
Without some schism among these heavenly lodgers | R |
But none of their dissensions seem'd to last | T |
So long as Friar John's and Friar Roger's | R |
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I have been very accurate in my researches | R |
And find this Convent truce with whys and hows | R |
Kept in a constant ferment with the rows | R |
Of these two quarrelsome fat sons of Churches | R |
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But when Sir Thomas went to his devotions | R |
Proceeding thro' their Cloister with his Bride | U |
You never could have dream'd of their commotions | R |
The stiff rump'd rascals look'd so sanctified | U |
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And it became the custom of the Knight | U |
To go to matins every day | U |
He jogg'd his Bride as soon as it was light | U |
Crying my dear 'tis time for us to pray | U |
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This custom he establish'd very soon | V |
After his honey moon | V |
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Wives of this age might think his zeal surprising | Q |
But much his pious lady did it please | R |
To see her Husband every morning rising | Q |
And going instantly upon his knees | R |
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Never I ween | V |
In any person's recollection | V |
Was such a couple seen | V |
For genuflection | V |
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Making as great a drudgery of prayer | H |
As humble Curates are oblige'd to do | U |
Whose labour wo the while scarce buys them cassocks | R |
And every morning whether foul or fair | H |
Sir Thomas and the Dame were in their pew | U |
Craw thumping upon hassocks | R |
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It could not otherwise befall | S |
Sir Thomas and his Wife this course pursuing | Q |
But that the Lady affable to all | S |
Should greet the Friars on her way | U |
To matins as she met them every day | U |
Good morninging and how d'ye doing | Q |
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Now nodding to this Friar now to that | U |
As thro' the Cloister she was wont to trip | W |
Stopping sometimes to have a little chat | U |
On casual topicks with the holy brothers | R |
So condescending was her Ladyship | W |
To Roger John and all the others | R |
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All this was natural enough | X |
To any female of urbanity | U |
But holy men are made of as frail stuff | X |
As all the lighter sons of Vanity | U |
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And these her Ladyship's chaste condescensions | R |
In Friar John bred damnable desire | Y |
Heterodox unclean intentions | R |
Abominable in a Friar | Y |
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Whene'er she greeted him his gills grew red | U |
While she was quite unconscious of the matter | Y |
But he the beast was casting sheeps eyes at her | Y |
Out of his bullock head | U |
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That coxcombs were and are I need not give | Z |
Nor take the trouble now to prove | A2 |
Nor that those dead like many now who live | B2 |
Have thought a Lady's condescension love | C2 |
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This happen'd with fat Friar John | V |
Monastick Coxcomb amorous and gummy | U |
Fill'd with conceit up to his very brim | D2 |
He thought his guts and garbage doated on | V |
By a fair Dame whose Husband was to him | D2 |
Hyperion to a mummy | U |
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Burning with flames the Lady never knew | U |
Hotter and heavier than toasted cheese | R |
He sent her a much warmer billet doux | R |
Than Abelard e'er writ to Elo se | R |
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But whether Friar John's fat shape and face | R |
Tho' pleading both together | Y |
Were sorry advocates in such a case | R |
Or whether | Y |
He marr'd his hopes by suffering his pen | V |
With too much fervour to display 'em | E2 |
As very tender Nurses now and then | V |
Cuddle their Children till they overlay 'em | E2 |
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'Twas plain his pray'r to decorate the brows | R |
Of good Sir Thomas was so far from granted | U |
That the Dame went directly to her spouse | R |
And told him what the filthy Friar wanted | U |
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Think Reader think if thou hast ta'en for life | F2 |
A partner to thy bed for worse or better | Y |
Think what Sir Thomas felt when his chaste wife | F2 |
Brandish'd before his eyes the Friar's letter | Y |
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He felt Sir Zounds | R |
Yes Zounds I say Sir for it makes me swear | H |
More torture than he suffer'd from the wounds | R |
He got among the French in France | R |
Not that I take upon me to advance | R |
The knight was ever wounded there | H |
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Think gravely Sir I pray fancy the Knight | U |
'Tis quite a Picture with his heart's delight | U |
Fancy you see his virtuous Lady stand | U |
Holding the Friar's foulness in her hand | U |
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How should Sir Thomas Sir behave | G2 |
Why bounce and sputter surely like a squib | H2 |
You would have done the same Sir if a knave | G2 |
A frouzy Friar meddle'd with your Rib | H2 |
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His bosom almost burst with ire | I2 |
Against the Friar | Y |
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Rage gave his face an apoplectick hue | U |
His cheeks turn'd purple and his nose turn'd blue | U |
He swore with this mock Saint he'd soon be even | V |
He'd have him flay'd like Saint Bartholomew | U |
And now again he'd have him stone'd like Stephen | V |
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But Ira furor brevis est | U |
As Horace quaintly has express'd | U |
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Therefore the Knight finding his foam and froth | J2 |
Work thro' the bung hole of his mouth like beer | C |
Pull'd out the vent peg of his wrath | K2 |
To let the stream of his revenge run clear | C |
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Debating with himself what mode might suit him | D2 |
To trounce the rogue who wanted to cornute him | D2 |
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First an attack against his Foe he plann'd | U |
Learn'd in the Field where late he fought so felly | U |
That is to march up bravely sword in hand | U |
And run the Friar thro' his holy belly | U |
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At last his better judgment did declare | H |
Seeing his honour would as little shine | V |
By sticking Friars as by killing swine | V |
To circumvent him by a ruse de guerre | H |
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And as the project ripen'd in his head | U |
Thus to his virtuous Wife he said | U |
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Now sit thee down my Lady bright | U |
And list thy Lord's desire | Y |
An assignation thou shalt write | U |
Beshrew me to the Friar | Y |
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Aread him at the midnight hour | Y |
In silent sort to go | L2 |
And bide thy coming in the Bower | Y |
For there do Crabsticks grow | L2 |
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He shall not tarry long for why | M2 |
When Twelve have striking done | V |
Then by the God of Gardens I | M2 |
Will cudgel him till One | V |
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The Lady wrote just what Sir Thomas told her | Y |
For it is no less strange than true | U |
That Wives did once what Husbands bid them do | U |
Lord how this World improves as we grow older | Y |
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She name'd the midnight hour | Y |
Telling the Friar to repair | H |
To the sweet secret Bower | Y |
But not a word of any crabsticks there | H |
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Thus have I seen a liquorish black rat | U |
Lure'd by the Cook to sniff and smell her bacon | V |
And when he's eager for a bit of fat | U |
Down goes a trap upon him and he's taken | V |
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A tiny Page for formerly a boy | H2 |
Was a mere dunce who did not understand | U |
The doctrines of Sir Pandarus of Troy | H2 |
Slipp'd the Dame's note into the Friar's hand | U |
As he was walking in the cloister | Y |
And then slipp'd off as silent as an oyster | Y |
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The Friar read the Friar chuckle'd | U |
For now the Farce's unities were right | U |
Videlicet The Argument a Cuckold | U |
The Scene a Bow'r Time Twelve o'clock at night | U |
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Blithe was fat John and dreading no mishap | W |
Stole at the hour appointed to the trap | W |
But so perfume'd so musk'd for the occasion | V |
His tribute to the nose so like invasion | V |
You would have sworn to smell him 'twas no rat | U |
But a dead putrified old civet cat | U |
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He reach'd the spot anticipating blisses | R |
Soft murmurs melting sighs and burning kisses | R |
Trances of joy and mingling of the souls | R |
When whack Sir Thomas hit him on the joles | R |
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Now on his head it came now on his face | R |
His neck and shoulders arms legs breast and back | N2 |
In short on almost every place | R |
We read of in the Almanack | N2 |
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Blows rattle'd on him thick as hail | U |
Making him rue the day that he was born | V |
Sir Thomas plied his cudgel like a flail | U |
And thrash'd as if he had been thrashing corn | V |
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At length a thump painful the facts alas | R |
Truth urges us Historians to relate | U |
Took Friar John so smart athwart the pate | U |
It acted like a perfect coup de grace | R |
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Whether it was a random shot | U |
Or aim'd maliciously tho' Fame says not | U |
Certain his soul the Knight so crack'd his crown | V |
Fled from his body but which way it went | U |
Or whether Friars' souls fly up or down | V |
Remains a matter of nice argument | U |
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Points so abstruse I dare not dwell upon | V |
Enough for me his body is not gone | V |
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For I have business still in my narration | V |
With the fat carcass of this holy porpus | R |
And Death tho' sharp in his Administration | V |
Never suspended such an Habeas Corpus | R |
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End Of Part I | M2 |
George Colman
(1)
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