The Poor Of The Borough. Letter Xxi: Abel Keene Poem Rhyme Scheme

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A QUIET simple man was Abel Keene	A
He meant no harm nor did he often mean	A
He kept a school of loud rebellious boys	B
And growing old grew nervous with the noise	B
When a kind merchant hired his useful pen	C
And made him happiest of accompting men	C
With glee he rose to every easy day	D
When half the labour brought him twice the pay	D
There were young clerks and there the	E
	-
merchant's son	F
Choice spirits all who wish'd him to be one	F
It must no question give them lively joy	G
Hopes long indulged to combat and destroy	G
At these they levelled all their skill and	H
	-
strength	I
He fell not quickly but he fell at length	I
They quoted books to him both bold and new	J
And scorn'd as fables all he held as true	J
'Such monkish stories and such nursery lies '	-
That he was struck with terror and surprise	K
'What all his life had he the laws obey'd	L
Which they broke through and were not once afraid	L
Had he so long his evil passions check'd	M
And yet at last had nothing to expect	M
While they their lives in joy and pleasure led	N
And then had nothing at the end to dread	N
Was all his priest with so much zeal convey'd	L
A part a speech for which the man was paid	L
And were his pious books his solemn prayers	O
Not worth one tale of the admir'd Voltaire's	O
Then was it time while yet some years remain'd	P
To drink untroubled and to think unchain'd	P
And on all pleasues which his purse could give	Q
Freely to seize and while he lived to live '	-
Much time he pass'd in this important strife	R
The bliss or bane of his remaining life	R
For converts all are made with care and grief	S
And pangs attend the birth of unbelief	S
Nor pass they soon with awe and fear he took	T
The flowery way and cast back many a look	T
The youths applauded much his wise design	U
With weighty reasoning o'er their evening wine	U
And much in private 'twould their mirth improve	S
To hear how Abel spake of life and love	S
To hear him own what grievous pains it cost	P
Ere the old saint was in the sinner lost	P
Ere his poor mind with every deed alarm'd	P
By wit was settled and by vice was charm'd	P
For Abel enter'd in his bold career	V
Like boys on ice with pleasure and with fear	V
Lingering yet longing for the joy he went	P
Repenting now now dreading to repent	P
With awkward pace and with himself at war	W
Far gone yet frighten'd that he went so far	X
Oft for his efforts he'd solicit praise	O
And then proceed with blunders and delays	O
The young more aptly passions' calls pursue	O
But age and weakness start at scenes so new	O
And tremble when they've done for all they dared	P
	-
to do	O
At length example Abel's dread removed	P
With small concern he sought the joys he loved	P
Not resting here he claim'd his share of fame	Y
And first their votary then their wit became	Y
His jest was bitter and his satire bold	P
When he his tales of formal brethren told	P
What time with pious neighbours he discuss'd	P
Their boasted treasure and their boundless trust	P
'Such were our dreams ' the jovial elder cried	P
'Awake and live ' his youthful friends replied	P
Now the gay clerk a modest drab despised	P
And clad him smartly as his friends advised	P
So fine a coat upon his back he threw	O
That not an alley boy old Abel knew	O
Broad polish'd buttons blazed that coat upon	Z
And just beneath the watch's trinkets shone	A2
A splendid watch that pointed out the time	B2
To fly from business and make free with crime	B2
The crimson waistcoat and the silken hose	O
Rank'd the lean man among the Borough beaux	O
His raven hair he cropp'd with fierce disdain	C2
And light elastic locks encased his brain	C2
More pliant pupil who could hope to find	P
Se deck'd in person and so changed in mind	P
When Abel walked the streets with pleasent mien	A
He met his friends delighted to be seen	A
And when he rode along the public way	D
No beau so gaudy and no youth so gay	D
His pious sister now an ancient maid	P
For Abel fearing first in secret pray'd	P
Then thus in love and scorn her notions she	D2
	-
convey'd	P
'Alas my brother can I see thee pace	O
Hoodwink'd to hell and not lament thy case	O
Nor stretch my feeble hand to stop thy headlong	E2
	-
race	O
Lo thou art bound a slave in Satan's chain	C2
The righteous Abel turn'd the wretched Cain	C2
His brother's blood against the murderer cried	P
Against thee thine unhappy suicide	P
Are all our pious nights and peaceful days	O
Our evening readings and our morning praise	O
Our spirits' comfort in the trials sent	P
Our hearts' rejoicings in the blessings lent	P
All that o'er grief a cheering influence shed	P
Are these for ever and for ever fled	P
'When in the years gone by the trying years	O
When faith and hope had strife with wants and	P
	-
fears	O
Thy nerves have trembled till thou couldst not eat	P
Dress'd by this hand thy mess of simple meat	P
When grieved by fastings gall'd by fates severe	V
Slow pass'd the days of the successless year	V
Still in these gloomy hours my brother then	C
Had glorious views unseen by prosperous men	C
And when thy heart has felt its wish denied	P
What gracious texts hast thou to grief applied	P
Till thou hast enter'd in thine humble bed	P
By lofty hopes and heavenly musings fed	P
Then I have seen thy lively looks express	O
The spirit's comforts in the man's distress	O
'Then didst thou cry exulting 'Yes 'tis fit	P
'Tis meet and right my heart that we submit '	-
And wilt thou Abel thy new pleasures weigh	D
Against such triumphs Oh repent and pray	D
'What are thy pleasures with the gay to sit	P
And thy poor brain torment for awkward wit	P
All thy good thoughts thou hat'st them to	O
	-
restrain	C2
And give a wicked pleasure to the vain	C2
Thy long lean frame by fashion to attire	F2
That lads may laugh and wantons may admire	G2
To raise the mirth of boys and not to see	D2
Unhappy maniac that they laugh at thee	D2
'These boyish follies which alone the boy	G
Can idly act or gracefully enjoy	G
Add new reproaches to thy fallen state	P
And make men scorn what they would only hate	P
'What pains my brother dost thou take to prove	S
A taste for follies which thou canst not love	S
Why do thy stiffening limbs the steed bestride	P
That lads may laugh to see thou canst not ride	P
And why I feel the crimson tinge my cheek	H2
Dost thou by night in Diamond Alley sneak	H2
'Farewell the parish will thy sister keep	I2
Where she in peace shall pray and sing and sleep	I2
Save when for thee she mourns thou wicked	P
	-
wandering sheep	I2
When youth is fallen there's hope the young may	D
	-
rise	O
But fallen age for ever hopeless lies	O
Torn up by storms and placed in earth once more	W
The younger tree may sun and soil restore	W
But when the old and sapless trunk lies low	O
No care or soil can former life bestow	O
Reserved for burning is the worthless tree	D2
And what O Abel is reserved for thee '	-
These angry words our hero deeply felt	P
Though hard his heart and indisposed to melt	P
To gain relief he took a glass the more	W
And then went on as careless as before	W
Thenceforth uncheck'd amusements he partook	H2
And save his ledger saw no decent book	H2
Him found the merchant punctual at his task	H2
And that performed he'd nothing more to ask	H2
He cared not how old Abel play'd the fool	J2
No master he beyond the hours of school	J2
Thus they proceeding had their wine and joke	H2
Till merchant Dixon felt a warning stroke	H2
And after struggling half a gloomy week	H2
Left his poor clerk another friend to seek	H2
Alas the son who led the saint astray	D
Forgot the man whose follies made him gay	D
He cared no more for Abel in his need	P
Than Abel cared about his hackney steed	P
He now alas had all his earnings spent	P
And thus was left to languish and repent	P
No school nor clerkship found he in the place	O
Now lost to fortune as before to grace	O
For town relief the grieving man applied	P
And begg'd with tears what some with scorn denied	P
Others look'd down upon the glowing vest	P
And frowning ask'd him at what price he dress'd	P
Happy for him his country's laws are mild	P
They must support him though they still reviled	P
Grieved abject scorn'd insulted and betray'd	P
Of God unmindful and of man afraid	P
No more he talk'd	P

George Crabbe

The Poor Of The Borough. Letter Xxi: Abel Keene Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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