English Bards And Scotch Reviewers: A Satire Poem Rhyme Scheme

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'I had rather be a kitten and cry mew	A
Than one of these same metre ballad mongers' Shakespeare	B
	-
'Such shameless bards we have and yet 'tis true	A
There are as mad abandon'd critics too ' Pope	C
	-
	-
Still must I hear shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl	D
His creaking couplets in a tavern hall	D
And I not sing lest haply Scotch reviews	E
Should dub me scribbler and denounce my muse	E
Prepare for rhyme I'll publish right or wrong	F
Fools are my theme let satire be my song	F
	-
O nature's noblest gift my grey goose quill	G
Slave of my thoughts obedient to my will	G
Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen	H
That mighty instrument of little men	H
The pen foredoom'd to aid the mental throes	I
Of brains that labour big with verse or prose	I
Though nymphs forsake and critics may deride	J
The lover's solace and the author's pride	J
What wits what poets dost thou daily raise	K
How frequent is thy use how small thy praise	K
Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite	L
With all the pages which 'twas thine to write	L
But thou at least mine own especial pen	H
Once laid aside but now assumed again	H
Our task complete like Hamet's shall be free	M
Though spurn'd by others yet beloved by me	M
Then let us soar today no common theme	N
No eastern vision no distemper'd dream	N
Inspires our path though full of thorns is plain	O
Smooth be the verse and easy be the strain	O
	-
When Vice triumphant holds her sov'reign sway	P
Obey'd by all who nought beside obey	P
When Folly frequent harbinger of crime	Q
Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime	Q
When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail	R
And weigh their justice in a golden scale	R
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers	S
Afraid of shame unknown to other fears	S
More darkly sin by satire kept in awe	T
And shrink from ridicule though not from law	U
	-
Such is the force of wit but not belong	F
To me the arrows of satiric song	F
The royal vices of our age demand	V
A keener weapon and a mightier hand	V
Still there are follies e'en for me to chase	W
And yield at least amusement in the race	W
Laugh when I laugh I seek no other fame	Q
The cry is up and scribblers are my game	Q
Speed Pegasus ye strains of great and small	D
Ode epic elegy have at you all	D
I too can scrawl and once upon a time	Q
I pour'd along the town a flood of rhyme	Q
A schoolboy freak unworthy praise or blame	Q
I printed older children do the same	Q
'Tis pleasant sure to see one's name in print	X
A book's a book although there's nothing in't	M
Not that a title's sounding charm can save	Y
Or scrawl or scribbler from an equal grave	Y
This Lambe must own since his patrician name	Q
Fail'd to preserve the spurious farce from shame	Q
No matter George continues still to write	L
Though now the name is veil'd from public sight	L
Moved by the great example I pursue	A
The self same road but make my own review	A
Not seek great Jeffrey's yet like him will be	M
Self constituted judge of poesy	A
	-
A man must serve his time to every trade	Z
Save censure critics all are ready made	Z
Take hackney'd jokes from Miller got by rote	A2
With just enough of learning to misquote	A2
A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault	B2
A turn for punning call it Attic salt	B2
To Jeffrey go be silent and discreet	C2
His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet	C2
Fear not to lie 'twill seem a sharper hit	D2
Shrink not from blasphemy 'twill pass for wit	D2
Care not for feeling pass you proper jest	E2
And stand a critic hated yet carress'd	E2
	-
And shall we own such judgment no as soon	F2
Seek roses in December ice in June	F2
Hope constancy in wind or corn in chaff	G2
Believe a woman or an epitaph	G2
Or any other thing that's false before	H2
You trust in critics who themselves are sore	H2
Or yield one single thought to be misled	E2
By Jeffrey's heart or Lambe's Boeotian head	E2
To these young tyrants by themselves misplaced	E2
Combined usurpers on the throne of taste	E2
To these when authors bend in humble awe	T
And hail their voice as truth their word as law	U
While these are censors 't would be sin to spare	I2
While such are critics why should I forebear	I2
But yet so near all modern worthies run	J2
'Tis doubtful whom to seek or whom to shun	J2
Nor know we when to spare or where to strike	K2
Our bards and censors are so much alike	K2
	-
Then should you ask me why I venture o'er	L2
The path which Pope and Gifford trod before	H2
If not yet sicken'd you can still proceed	E2
Go on my rhyme will tell you as you read	E2
'But hold ' exclaims a friend 'here's come neglect	E2
This that and t'other line seem incorrect '	-
What then the self same blunder Pope has got	E2
And careless Dryden 'Ay but Pye has not '	-
Indeed 'tis granted faith but what care I	M2
Better to err with Pope than shine with Pye	M2
	-
Time was ere yet in these degenerate days	A
Ignoble themes obtain'd mistaken praise	A
When sense and wit with poesy allied	E2
No fabl'd graces flourish'd side by side	E2
From the same fount their inspiration drew	A
And rear'd by taste bloom'd fairer as they grew	A
Then in this happy isle a Pope's pure strain	O
Sought the rapt soul to charm nor sought in vain	O
A polish'd nation's praise aspir'd to claim	Q
And rais'd the people's as the poet's fame	Q
Like him great Dryden pour'd the tide of song	F
In stream less smooth indeed yet doubly strong	F
Then Congreve's scenes could cheer or Otway's melt	E2
For nature then an English audience felt	E2
But why these names or greater still retrace	A
When all to feebler bards resign their place	A
Yet to such times our lingering looks are cast	E2
When taste and reason with those times are past	E2
Now look around and turn each trifling page	N2
Survey the precious works that please the age	N2
This truth at least let satire's self allow	O2
No dearth of bards can be complain'd of now	O2
The loaded press beneath her labour groans	A
And printers' devils shake their weary bones	A
While Southey's epics cram the creaking shelves	A
And Little's lyrics shine in hot press'd twelves	A
Thus saith the Preacher 'Nought beneath the sun	J2
Is new' yet still from change to change we run	J2
What varied wonders tempt us as they pass	A
The cow pox tractors galvanism and gas	A
In turns appear to make the vulgar stare	I2
Till the swoll'n bubble bursts and all is air	I2
Nor less new schools of Poetry arise	A
Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize	A
O'er taste awhile these pseudo bards prevail	R
Each country book club bows the knee to Baal	R
And hurling lawful genius from the throne	P2
Erects a shrine and idol of its own	P2
Some leaden calf but whom it matters not	E2
From soaring Southey down to grovelling Stott	E2
	-
Behold in various throngs the scribbling crew	A
For notice eager pass in long review	A
Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace	A
And rhyme and blank maintain an equal race	A
Sonnets on sonnets crowd and ode on ode	E2
And tales of terror jostle on the road	E2
Immeasurable measures move along	F
For simpering folly loves a varied song	F
To strange mysterious dullness still the friend	E2
Admires the strain she cannot comprehend	E2
Thus Lays of Minstrels may they be the last	E2
On half strung harps whine mournful to the blast	E2
While mountain spirits prate to river sprites	A
That dames may listen to the sound at nights	A
And goblin brats of Gilpin Horner's brood	E2
Decoy young border nobles through the wood	E2
And skip at every step Lord knows how high	M2
And frighten foolish babes the Lord knows why	M2
While highborn ladies in their magic cell	R
Forbidding knights to read who cannot spell	R
Despatch a courier to a wizard's grave	Y
And fight with honest men to shield a knave	Y
	-
Next view in state proud prancing on his roan	P2
The golden crested haughty Marmion	J2
Now forging scrolls now foremost in the fight	E2
Not quite a felon y	-

George Gordon Byron

English Bards And Scotch Reviewers: A Satire Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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