Satire I Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis


Away thou fondling motley humoristA
Leave mee and in this standing woodden chestB
Consorted with these few bookes let me lyeC
In prison and here be coffin'd when I dyeC
Here are Gods conduits grave Divines and hereD
Natures Secretary the PhilosopherE
And jolly Statesmen which teach how to tieC
The sinewes of a cities mistique bodieF
Here gathering Chroniclers and by them standG
Giddie fantastique Poets of each landG
Shall I leave all this constant companyF
And follow headlong wild uncertaine theeF
First sweare by thy best love in earnestH
If thou which lov'st all canst love any bestB
Thou wilt not leave mee in the middle streetI
Though some more spruce companion thou dost meetI
Not though a Captaine do come in thy wayJ
Bright parcell gilt with forty dead mens payJ
Nor though a briske perfum'd piert CourtierE
Deigne with a nod thy courtesie to answerE
Nor come a velvet Justice with a longK
Great traine of blew coats twelve or fourteen strongK
Wilt thou grin or fawne on him or prepareL
A speech to court his beautious sonne and heireL
For better or worse take mee or leave meeF
To take and leave mee is adulteryF
Oh monstrous superstitious puritanM
Of refin'd manners yet ceremoniall manN
That when thou meet'st one with enquiring eyesO
Dost search and like a needy broker prizeO
The silke and gold he weares and to that rateP
So high or low dost raise thy formall hatQ
That wilt consort none untill thou have knowneN
What lands hee hath in hope or of his owneN
As though all thy companions should make theeF
Jointures and marry thy deare companyF
Why should'st thou that dost not onely approveR
But in ranke itchie lust desire and loveS
The nakednesse and barenesse to enjoyT
Of thy plumpe muddy whore or prostitute boyT
Hate vertue though shee be naked and bareL
At birth and death our bodies naked areL
And till our Soules be unapparrelledQ
Of bodies they from blisse are banishedQ
Mans first blest state was naked when by sinneF
Hee lost that yet hee'was cloath'd but in beasts skinF
And in this course attire which I now weareL
With God and with the Muses I conferreL
But since thou like a contrite penitentQ
Charitably warn'd of thy sinnes dost repentQ
These vanities and giddinesses loeU
I shut my chamber doore and 'Come lets goe 'V
But sooner may a cheape whore that hath beeneF
Worne by as many severall men in sinneF
As are black feathers or musk colour hoseW
Name her childs right true father 'mongst all thoseW
Sooner may one guesse who shall beare awayJ
Th'Infant of London Heire to'an IndiaQ
And sooner may a gulling weather SpieF
By drawing forth heavens Scheame tell certainlyF
What fashion'd hats or ruffles or suits next yeareL
Our subtile witted antique youths will weareL
Then thou when thou depart'st from mee canst showU
Whither why when or with whom thou wouldst goU
But how shall I be pardon'd my offenceW
That thus have sinn'd against my conscienceW
Now we are in the street He first of allX
Improvidently proud creepes to the wallX
And so imprison'd and hem'd in by meeF
Sells for a little state his libertieQ
Yet though he cannot skip forth now to greetQ
Every fine silken painted foole we meetQ
He them to him with amorous smiles alluresW
And grins smacks shrugs and such an itch enduresW
As prentises or schoole boyes which doe knowU
Of some gay sport abroad yet dare not goeU
And as fidlers stop low'st at highest soundQ
So to the most brave stoops hee nigh'st the groundQ
But to a grave man he doth move no moreL
Then the wise politique horse would heretoforeL
Or thou O Elephant or Ape wilt doeU
When any names the King of Spaine to youY
Now leaps he upright joggs me 'and cryes 'Do'you seeW
Yonder well favour'd youth ' 'Which ' 'Oh 'tis heeW
That dances so divinely ' 'Oh ' said IC
'Stand still must you dance here for company 'V
Hee droopt wee went till one which did excellX
Th'Indians in drinking his Tobacco wellX
Met us they talk'd I whisper'd 'Let us goeU
'T may be you smell him not truely I doe 'V
He heares not mee but on the other sideQ
A many colour'd Peacock having spideQ
Leaves him and mee I for my lost sheep stayQ
He followes overtakes goes on the wayQ
Saying 'Him whom I last left all reputeQ
For his device in hansoming a suteQ
To judge of lace pinke panes print cut and plightQ
Of all the Court to have the best conceit 'V
'Our dull Comedians want him let him goeU
But Oh God strengthen thee why stoop'st thou so 'V
'Why he hath travail'd ' 'Long ' 'No but to me'F
Which understand none 'he doth seeme to beW
Perfect French and Italian ' I reply'dQ
'So is the Poxe ' He answer'd not but spy'dQ
More men of sort of parts and qualitiesW
At last his Love he in a windowe spiesW
And like light dew exhal'd he flings from meeW
Violently ravish'd to his lecheryL
Many were there he could command no moreL
He quarrell'd fought bled and turn'd out of doreL
Directly came to mee hanging the headQ
And constantly a while must keepe his bedQ

John Donne


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