Prelude From The Shepherd's Hunting Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABCDDEEFFGDHHDDIIJJ KKLLMMMMNNGMOOMMPPMM MMQQMMDDMMMMDDDDRRMM SSRRMMOODDDDDDDDMMPP MMMMTTUUDDMMDDDDMMMM EEMMDDMMMMVVMMDDDDMM VWSeest thou not in clearest days | A |
Oft thick fogs cloud Heaven's rays | A |
And that vapours which do breathe | B |
From the Earth's gross womb beneath | C |
Seem unto us with black steams | D |
To pollute the Sun's bright beams | D |
And yet vanish into air | E |
Leaving it unblemished fair | E |
So my Willy shall it be | F |
With Detraction's breath on thee | F |
It shall never rise so high | G |
As to stain thy poesy | D |
As that sun doth oft exhale | H |
Vapours from each rotten vale | H |
Poesy so sometime drains | D |
Gross conceits from muddy brains | D |
Mists of envy fogs of spite | I |
Twixt men's judgments and her light | I |
But so much her power may do | J |
That she can dissolve them too | J |
If thy verse do bravely tower | K |
As she makes wing she gets power | K |
Yet the higher she doth soar | L |
She's affronted still the more | L |
Till she to the highest hath past | M |
Then she rests with Fame at last | M |
Let nought therefore thee affright | M |
But make forward in thy flight | M |
For if I could match thy rhyme | N |
To the very stars I'd climb | N |
There begin again and fly | G |
Till I reached eternity | M |
But alas my Muse is slow | O |
For thy place she flags too low | O |
Yea the more's her hapless fate | M |
Her short wings were clipt of late | M |
And poor I her fortune ruing | P |
Am put up myself a mewing | P |
But if I my cage can rid | M |
I'll fly where I never did | M |
And though for her sake I'm crost | M |
Though my best hopes I have lost | M |
And knew she would make my trouble | Q |
Ten times more than ten times double | Q |
I should love and keep her too | M |
Spite of all the world could do | M |
For though banished from my flocks | D |
And confined within these rocks | D |
Here I waste away the light | M |
And consume the sullen night | M |
She doth for my comfort stay | M |
And keeps many cares away | M |
Though I miss the flowery fields | D |
With those sweets the spring tide yields | D |
Though I may not see those groves | D |
Where the shepherds chaunt their loves | D |
And the lasses more excel | R |
Than the sweet voiced Philomel | R |
Though of all those pleasures past | M |
Nothing now remains at last | M |
But Remembrance poor relief | S |
That more makes than mends my grief | S |
She's my mind's companion still | R |
Maugre envy's evil will | R |
Whence she should be driven too | M |
Were't in mortal's power to do | M |
She doth tell me where to borrow | O |
Comfort in the midst of sorrow | O |
Makes the desolatest place | D |
To her presence be a grace | D |
And the blackest discontents | D |
To be pleasing ornaments | D |
In my former days of bliss | D |
Her divine skill taught me this | D |
That from everything I saw | D |
I could some invention draw | D |
And raise pleasure to her height | M |
Through the meanest object's sight | M |
By the murmur of a spring | P |
Or the least bough's rustling | P |
By a daisy whose leaves spread | M |
Shut when Titan goes to bed | M |
Or a shady bush or tree | M |
She could more infuse in me | M |
Than all Nature's beauties can | T |
In some other wiser man | T |
By her help I also now | U |
Make this churlish place allow | U |
Some things that may sweeten gladness | D |
In the very gall of sadness | D |
The dull loneness the black shade | M |
That these hanging vaults have made | M |
The strange music of the waves | D |
Beating on these hollow caves | D |
This black den which rocks emboss | D |
Overgrown with eldest moss | D |
The rude portals that give light | M |
More to terror than delight | M |
This my chamber of neglect | M |
Walled about with disrespect | M |
From all these and this dull air | E |
A fit object for despair | E |
She hath taught me by her might | M |
To draw comfort and delight | M |
Therefore thou best earthly bliss | D |
I will cherish thee for this | D |
Poesy thou sweet'st content | M |
That e'er Heaven to mortals lent | M |
Though they as a trifle leave thee | M |
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee | M |
Though thou be to them a scorn | V |
That to nought but earth are born | V |
Let my life no longer be | M |
Than I am in love with thee | M |
Though our wise ones call thee madness | D |
Let me never taste of gladness | D |
If I love not thy maddest fits | D |
More than all their greatest wits | D |
And though some too seeming holy | M |
Do account thy raptures folly | M |
Thou dost teach me to contemn | V |
What makes knaves and fools of them | W |
George Wither
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