Don Juan: Canto The Ninth Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABABABCD EFEFEFGG HIHIHIJJ KLKKKKMM FJFJFJKK KCKCKCNN CNCNCNOO CKCKCKCC FIFIFJCC CPCPCPKK NQNQRQST UVUVUWXX KYKYKYCC NNNNNAA ZKNKNKKK KQKQKQTT NCNCNCNQ KNKNKNCC A2B2A2C2A2C2KK NFNFNFNN KD2KD2KD2CC E2KE2KE2KKN| Oh Wellington or 'Villainton' for Fame | A |
| Sounds the heroic syllables both ways | B |
| France could not even conquer your great name | A |
| But punn'd it down to this facetious phrase | B |
| Beating or beaten she will laugh the same | A |
| You have obtain'd great pensions and much praise | B |
| Glory like yours should any dare gainsay | C |
| Humanity would rise and thunder 'Nay ' | D |
| - | |
| I don't think that you used Kinnaird quite well | E |
| In Marinet's affair in fact 'twas shabby | F |
| And like some other things won't do to tell | E |
| Upon your tomb in Westminster's old abbey | F |
| Upon the rest 'tis not worth while to dwell | E |
| Such tales being for the tea hours of some tabby | F |
| But though your years as man tend fast to zero | G |
| In fact your grace is still but a young hero | G |
| - | |
| Though Britain owes and pays you too so much | H |
| Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more | I |
| You have repair'd Legitimacy's crutch | H |
| A prop not quite so certain as before | I |
| The Spanish and the French as well as Dutch | H |
| Have seen and felt how strongly you restore | I |
| And Waterloo has made the world your debtor | J |
| I wish your bards would sing it rather better | J |
| - | |
| You are 'the best of cut throats ' do not start | K |
| The phrase is Shakspeare's and not misapplied | L |
| War's a brain spattering windpipe slitting art | K |
| Unless her cause by right be sanctified | K |
| If you have acted once a generous part | K |
| The world not the world's masters will decide | K |
| And I shall be delighted to learn who | M |
| Save you and yours have gain'd by Waterloo | M |
| - | |
| I am no flatterer you 've supp'd full of flattery | F |
| They say you like it too 't is no great wonder | J |
| He whose whole life has been assault and battery | F |
| At last may get a little tired of thunder | J |
| And swallowing eulogy much more than satire he | F |
| May like being praised for every lucky blunder | J |
| Call'd 'Saviour of the Nations' not yet saved | K |
| And 'Europe's Liberator' still enslaved | K |
| - | |
| I've done Now go and dine from off the plate | K |
| Presented by the Prince of the Brazils | C |
| And send the sentinel before your gate | K |
| A slice or two from your luxurious meals | C |
| He fought but has not fed so well of late | K |
| Some hunger too they say the people feels | C |
| There is no doubt that you deserve your ration | N |
| But pray give back a little to the nation | N |
| - | |
| I don't mean to reflect a man so great as | C |
| You my lord duke is far above reflection | N |
| The high Roman fashion too of Cincinnatus | C |
| With modern history has but small connection | N |
| Though as an Irishman you love potatoes | C |
| You need not take them under your direction | N |
| And half a million for your Sabine farm | O |
| Is rather dear I'm sure I mean no harm | O |
| - | |
| Great men have always scorn'd great recompenses | C |
| Epaminondas saved his Thebes and died | K |
| Not leaving even his funeral expenses | C |
| George Washington had thanks and nought beside | K |
| Except the all cloudless glory which few men's is | C |
| To free his country Pitt too had his pride | K |
| And as a high soul'd minister of state is | C |
| Renown'd for ruining Great Britain gratis | C |
| - | |
| Never had mortal man such opportunity | F |
| Except Napoleon or abused it more | I |
| You might have freed fallen Europe from the unity | F |
| Of tyrants and been blest from shore to shore | I |
| And now what is your fame Shall the Muse tune it ye | F |
| Now that the rabble's first vain shouts are o'er | J |
| Go hear it in your famish'd country's cries | C |
| Behold the world and curse your victories | C |
| - | |
| As these new cantos touch on warlike feats | C |
| To you the unflattering Muse deigns to inscribe | P |
| Truths that you will not read in the Gazettes | C |
| But which 'tis time to teach the hireling tribe | P |
| Who fatten on their country's gore and debts | C |
| Must be recited and without a bribe | P |
| You did great things but not being great in mind | K |
| Have left undone the greatest and mankind | K |
| - | |
| Death laughs Go ponder o'er the skeleton | N |
| With which men image out the unknown thing | Q |
| That hides the past world like to a set sun | N |
| Which still elsewhere may rouse a brighter spring | Q |
| Death laughs at all you weep for look upon | R |
| This hourly dread of all whose threaten'd sting | Q |
| Turns life to terror even though in its sheath | S |
| Mark how its lipless mouth grins without breath | T |
| - | |
| Mark how it laughs and scorns at all you are | U |
| And yet was what you are from ear to ear | V |
| It laughs not there is now no fleshy bar | U |
| So call'd the Antic long hath ceased to hear | V |
| But still he smiles and whether near or far | U |
| He strips from man that mantle far more dear | W |
| Than even the tailor's his incarnate skin | X |
| White black or copper the dead bones will grin | X |
| - | |
| And thus Death laughs it is sad merriment | K |
| But still it is so and with such example | Y |
| Why should not Life be equally content | K |
| With his superior in a smile to trample | Y |
| Upon the nothings which are daily spent | K |
| Like bubbles on an ocean much less ample | Y |
| Than the eternal deluge which devours | C |
| Suns as rays worlds like atoms years like hours | C |
| - | |
| 'To be or not to be that is the question ' | - |
| Says Shakspeare who just now is much in fashion | N |
| I am neither Alexander nor Hephaestion | N |
| Nor ever had for abstract fame much passion | N |
| But would much rather have a sound digestion | N |
| Than Buonaparte's cancer could I dash on | N |
| Through fifty victories to shame or fame | A |
| Without a stomach what were a good name | A |
| - | |
| 'O dura ilia messorum ' 'Oh | Z |
| Ye rigid guts of reapers ' I translate | K |
| For the great benefit of those who know | N |
| What indigestion is that inward fate | K |
| Which makes all Styx through one small liver flow | N |
| A peasant's sweat is worth his lord's estate | K |
| Let this one toil for bread that rack for rent | K |
| He who sleeps best may be the most content | K |
| - | |
| 'To be or not to be ' Ere I decide | K |
| I should be glad to know that which is being | Q |
| 'T is true we speculate both far and wide | K |
| And deem because we see we are all seeing | Q |
| For my part I 'll enlist on neither side | K |
| Until I see both sides for once agreeing | Q |
| For me I sometimes think that life is death | T |
| Rather than life a mere affair of breath | T |
| - | |
| 'Que scais je ' was the motto of Montaigne | N |
| As also of the first academicians | C |
| That all is dubious which man may attain | N |
| Was one of their most favourite positions | C |
| There's no such thing as certainty that's plain | N |
| As any of Mortality's conditions | C |
| So little do we know what we're about in | N |
| This world I doubt if doubt itself be doubting | Q |
| - | |
| It is a pleasant voyage perhaps to float | K |
| Like Pyrrho on a sea of speculation | N |
| But what if carrying sail capsize the boat | K |
| Your wise men don't know much of navigation | N |
| And swimming long in the abyss of thought | K |
| Is apt to tire a calm and shallow station | N |
| Well nigh the shore where one stoops down and gathers | C |
| Some pretty shell is best for moderate bathers | C |
| - | |
| 'But heaven ' as Cassio says 'is above all | A2 |
| No more of this then let us pray ' We have | B2 |
| Souls to save since Eve's slip and Adam's fall | A2 |
| Which tumbled all mankind into the grave | C2 |
| Besides fish beasts and birds 'The sparrow's fall | A2 |
| Is special providence ' though how it gave | C2 |
| Offence we know not probably it perch'd | K |
| Upon the tree which Eve so fondly search'd | K |
| - | |
| Oh ye immortal gods what is theogony | N |
| Oh thou too mortal man what is philanthropy | F |
| Oh world which was and is what is cosmogony | N |
| Some people have accused me of misanthropy | F |
| And yet I know no more than the mahogany | N |
| That forms this desk of what they mean lykanthropy | F |
| I comprehend for without transformation | N |
| Men become wolves on any slight occasion | N |
| - | |
| But I the mildest meekest of mankind | K |
| Like Moses or Melancthon who have ne'er | D2 |
| Done anything exceedingly unkind | K |
| And though I could not now and then forbear | D2 |
| Following the bent of body or of mind | K |
| Have always had a tendency to spare | D2 |
| Why do they call me misanthrope Because | C |
| They hate me not I them and here we'll pause | C |
| - | |
| 'Tis time we should proceed with our good poem | E2 |
| For I maintain that it is really good | K |
| Not only in the body but the proem | E2 |
| However little both are understood | K |
| Just now but by and by the Truth will show 'em | E2 |
| Herself in her sublimest attitude | K |
| And till she doth I fain must be content | K |
| To share her b | N |
George Gordon Byron
(1)
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Don Juan: Canto The Ninth is a poem by George Gordon Byron. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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