Satire Iv Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Well I may now receive and die My sin	A
Indeed is great but yet I have been in	A
A purgatory such as fear'd hell is	B
A recreation and scant map of this	C
My mind neither with pride's itch nor yet hath been	A
Poison'd with love to see or to be seen	D
I had no suit there nor new suit to show	E
Yet went to court but as Glaze which did go	E
To'a mass in jest catch'd was fain to disburse	F
The hundred marks which is the statute's curse	F
Before he 'scap'd so'it pleas'd my destiny	G
Guilty of my sin of going to think me	G
As prone to all ill and of good as forget	H
Full as proud as lustful and as much in debt	H
As vain as witless and as false as they	I
Which dwell in court for once going that way	I
Therefore I suffered this towards me did run	J
A thing more strange than on Nile's slime the sun	J
E'er bred or all which into Noah's ark came	K
A thing which would have pos'd Adam to name	K
Stranger than seven antiquaries' studies	L
Than Afric's monsters Guiana's rarities	L
Stranger than strangers one who for a Dane	M
In the Danes' massacre had sure been slain	M
If he had liv'd then and without help dies	N
When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise	N
One whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by	O
One to whom the examining justice sure would cry	O
Sir by your priesthood tell me what you are	P
His clothes were strange though coarse and black though bare	Q
Sleeveless his jerkin was and it had been	A
Velvet but 'twas now so much ground was seen	D
Become tufftaffaty and our children shall	R
See it plain rash awhile then nought at all	S
This thing hath travell'd and saith speaks all tongues	T
And only knoweth what to all states belongs	U
Made of th' accents and best phrase of all these	L
He speaks one language If strange meats displease	L
Art can deceive or hunger force my taste	V
But pedants' motley tongue soldiers' bombast	W
Mountebanks' drug tongue nor the terms of law	X
Are strong enough preparatives to draw	X
Me to bear this yet I must be content	Y
With his tongue in his tongue call'd compliment	Y
In which he can win widows and pay scores	Z
Make men speak treason cozen subtlest whores	Z
Out flatter favourites or outlie either	A2
Jovius or Surius or both together	A2
He names me and comes to me I whisper God	B2
How have I sinn'd that Thy wrath's furious rod	B2
This fellow chooseth me He saith Sir	A2
I love your judgment whom do you prefer	A2
For the best linguist And I seelily	X
Said that I thought Calepine's dictionary	G
Nay but of men most sweet Sir Beza then	C2
Some Jesuits and two reverend men	C2
Of our two Academies I named There	Q
He stopp'd me and said Nay your apostles were	A2
Good pretty linguists and so Panurge was	D2
Yet a poor gentleman all these may pass	E2
By travel Then as if he would have sold	F2
His tongue he prais'd it and such wonders told	F2
That I was fain to say If you'had liv'd sir	A2
Time enough to have been interpreter	A2
To Babel's bricklayers sure the tower had stood	G2
He adds If of court life you knew the good	G2
You would leave loneness I said Not alone	H2
My loneness is but Spartan's fashion	J
To teach by painting drunkards doth not last	W
Now Aretine's pictures have made few chaste	V
No more can princes' courts though there be few	I2
Better pictures of vice teach me virtue	I2
He like to a high stretch'd lute string squeak'd O sir	A2
'Tis sweet to talk of kings At Westminster	A2
Said I the man that keeps the abbey tombs	J2
And for his price doth with whoever comes	K2
Of all our Harrys and our Edwards talk	L2
From king to king and all their kin can walk	L2
Your ears shall hear nought but kings your eyes meet	M2
Kings only the way to it is King street	M2
He smack'd and cried He's base mechanic coarse	N2
So are all your Englishmen in their discourse	N2
Are not your Frenchmen neat Mine As you see	G
I have but one Frenchman look he follows me	G
Certes they are neatly cloth'd I of this mind am	O2
Your only wearing is your grogaram	O2
Not so sir I have more Under this pitch	P2
He would not fly I chaff'd him but as itch	P2
Scratch'd into smart and as blunt iron ground	Q2
Into an edge hurts worse so I fool found	Q2
Crossing hurt me To fit my sullenness	G
He to another key his style doth dress	G
And asks What news I tell him of new plays	G
He takes my hand and as a still which stays	G
A sembrief 'twixt each drop he niggardly	G
As loth to enrich me so tells many a lie	X
More than ten Holinsheds or Halls or Stows	G
Of trivial household trash he knows He knows	G
When the Queen frown'd or smil'd and he knows what	R2
A subtle statesman may gather of that	S2
He knows who loves whom and who by poison	J
Hastes to an office's reversion	J
He knows who'hath sold his land and now doth beg	T2
A licence old iron boots shoes and egg	T2
Shells to transport shortly boys shall not play	X
At span counter or blow point but shall pay	X
Toll to some courtier and wiser than all us	G
He knows what lady is not painted Thus	G
He with home meats tries me I belch spew spit	U2
Look pale and sickly like a patient yet	H
He thrusts on more and as if he'd undertook	V2
To say Gallo Belgicus without book	V2
Speaks of all states and deeds that have been since	G
The Spaniards came to the loss of Amiens	G
Like a big wife at sight of loathed meat	M2
Ready to travail so I sigh and sweat	H
To hear this Macaron talk In vain for yet	H
Either my humour or his own to fit	U2
He like a privileg'd spy whom nothing can	W2
Discredit libels now 'gainst each great man	W2
He names a price for every office paid	X2
He saith our wars thrive ill because delay'd	X2
That offices are entail'd and that there are	P
Perpetuities of them lasting as far	P
As the last day and that great officers	G
Do with the pirates share and Dunkirkers	G
	Y2
Toughly and stubbornly I bear this cross but the' hour	A2
Of mercy now was come he tries to bring	Z2
Me to pay a fine to 'scape his torturing	Z2
And says Sir can you spare me I said Willingly	G
Nay sir can you spare me a crown Thankfully I	X
Gave it as ransom but as fiddlers still	X
Though they be paid to be gone yet needs will	X
Thrust one more jig upon you so did he	G
With his long complimental thanks vex me	G
But he is gone thanks to his needy want	A3
And the prerogative of my crown scant	B3
His thanks were ended when I which did see	G
All the court fill'd with more strange things than he	G
Ran from thence with such or more haste than one	J
Who fears more actions doth make from prison	J

John Donne

Satire Iv Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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