Mac Flecknoe: A Satire Upon The True-blue Protestant Poet T Poem Rhyme Scheme

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All human things are subject to decay	A
And when Fate summons monarchs must obey	A
This Flecknoe found who like Augustus young	B
Was call'd to empire and had govern'd long	C
In prose and verse was own'd without dispute	D
Through all the realms of Non sense absolute	D
This aged prince now flourishing in peace	E
And blest with issue of a large increase	E
Worn out with business did at length debate	F
To settle the succession of the State	F
And pond'ring which of all his sons was fit	G
To reign and wage immortal war with wit	G
Cry'd 'tis resolv'd for nature pleads that he	H
Should only rule who most resembles me	H
Shadwell alone my perfect image bears	I
Mature in dullness from his tender years	J
Shadwell alone of all my sons is he	H
Who stands confirm'd in full stupidity	H
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence	J
But Shadwell never deviates into sense	J
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall	K
Strike through and make a lucid interval	L
But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray	A
His rising fogs prevail upon the day	A
Besides his goodly fabric fills the eye	M
And seems design'd for thoughtless majesty	H
Thoughtless as monarch oaks that shade the plain	N
And spread in solemn state supinely reign	N
Heywood and Shirley were but types of thee	H
Thou last great prophet of tautology	O
Even I a dunce of more renown than they	A
Was sent before but to prepare thy way	A
And coarsely clad in Norwich drugget came	P
To teach the nations in thy greater name	P
My warbling lute the lute I whilom strung	B
When to King John of Portugal I sung	B
Was but the prelude to that glorious day	A
When thou on silver Thames did'st cut thy way	A
With well tim'd oars before the royal barge	O
Swell'd with the pride of thy celestial charge	O
And big with hymn commander of an host	Q
The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets toss'd	R
Methinks I see the new Arion sail	S
The lute still trembling underneath thy nail	S
At thy well sharpen'd thumb from shore to shore	T
The treble squeaks for fear the basses roar	T
Echoes from Pissing Alley Shadwell call	K
And Shadwell they resound from Aston Hall	K
About thy boat the little fishes throng	C
As at the morning toast that floats along	C
Sometimes as prince of thy harmonious band	U
Thou wield'st thy papers in thy threshing hand	U
St Andre's feet ne'er kept more equal time	V
Not ev'n the feet of thy own Psyche's rhyme	V
Though they in number as in sense excel	W
So just so like tautology they fell	W
That pale with envy Singleton forswore	T
The lute and sword which he in triumph bore	T
And vow'd he ne'er would act Villerius more	T
Here stopt the good old sire and wept for joy	O
In silent raptures of the hopeful boy	O
All arguments but most his plays persuade	X
That for anointed dullness he was made	X
	-
Close to the walls which fair Augusta bind	Y
The fair Augusta much to fears inclin'd	Y
An ancient fabric rais'd t'inform the sight	Z
There stood of yore and Barbican it hight	Z
A watch tower once but now so fate ordains	J
Of all the pile an empty name remains	J
From its old ruins brothel houses rise	J
Scenes of lewd loves and of polluted joys	J
Where their vast courts the mother strumpets keep	A2
And undisturb'd by watch in silence sleep	A2
Near these a nursery erects its head	B2
Where queens are form'd and future heroes bred	B2
Where unfledg'd actors learn to laugh and cry	T
Where infant punks their tender voices try	T
And little Maximins the gods defy	T
Great Fletcher never treads in buskins here	T
Nor greater Jonson dares in socks appear	T
But gentle Simkin just reception finds	J
Amidst this monument of vanish'd minds	J
Pure clinches the suburbian muse affords	J
And Panton waging harmless war with words	J
Here Flecknoe as a place to fame well known	C2
Ambitiously design'd his Shadwell's throne	C2
For ancient Decker prophesi'd long since	J
That in this pile should reign a mighty prince	J
Born for a scourge of wit and flail of sense	J
To whom true dullness should some Psyches owe	D2
But worlds of Misers from his pen should flow	D2
Humorists and hypocrites it should produce	J
Whole Raymond families and tribes of Bruce	J
	-
Now Empress Fame had publisht the renown	E2
Of Shadwell's coronation through the town	E2
Rous'd by report of fame the nations meet	F2
From near Bun Hill and distant Watling street	F2
No Persian carpets spread th'imperial way	A
But scatter'd limbs of mangled poets lay	A
From dusty shops neglected authors come	G2
Martyrs of pies and reliques of the bum	G2
Much Heywood Shirley Ogleby there lay	A
But loads of Shadwell almost chok'd the way	A
Bilk'd stationers for yeoman stood prepar'd	H2
And Herringman was Captain of the Guard	I2
The hoary prince in majesty appear'd	J2
High on a throne of his own labours rear'd	J2
At his right hand our young Ascanius sat	K2
Rome's other hope and pillar of the state	F
His brows thick fogs instead of glories grace	J
And lambent dullness play'd around his face	J
As Hannibal did to the altars come	G2
Sworn by his sire a mortal foe to Rome	L2
So Shadwell swore nor should his vow be vain	N
That he till death true dullness would maintain	N
And in his father's right and realm's defence	J
Ne'er to have peace with wit nor truce with sense	J
The king himself the sacred unction made	X
As king by office and as priest by trade	X
In his sinister hand instead of ball	K
He plac'd a mighty mug of potent ale	S
Love's kingdom to his right he did convey	A
At once his sceptre and his rule of sway	A
Whose righteous lore the prince had practis'd young	B
And from whose loins recorded Psyche sprung	B
His temples last with poppies were o'er spread	B2
That nodding seem'd to consecrate his head	B2
Just at that point of time if fame not lie	T
On his left hand twelve reverend owls did fly	T
So Romulus 'tis sung by Tiber's brook	M2
Presage of sway from twice six vultures took	M2
Th'admiring throng loud acclamations make	N2
And omens of his future empire take	N2
The sire then shook the honours of his head	B2
And from his brows damps of oblivion shed	B2
Full on the filial dullness long he stood	O2
Repelling from his breast the raging god	P2
At length burst out in this prophetic mood	Q2
	-
Heavens bless my son from Ireland let him reign	N
To far Barbadoes on the Western main	N
Of his dominion may no end be known	C2
And greater than his father's be his throne	C2
Beyond love's kingdom let him stretch his pen	R2
He paus'd and all the people cry'd Amen	R2
Then thus continu'd he my son advance	J
Still in new impudence new ignorance	J
Success let other teach learn thou from me	H
Pangs without birth and fruitless industry	H
Let Virtuosos in five years be writ	G
Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit	G
Let gentle George in triumph tread the stage	O
Make Dorimant betray and Loveit rage	O
Let Cully Cockwood Fopling charm the pit	G
And in their folly show the writer's wit	G
Yet still thy fools shall stand in thy defence	J
And justify their author's want of sense	J
Let 'em be all by thy own model made	X
Of dullness and desire no foreign aid	X
That they to future ages may be known	C2
Not copies drawn but issue of thy own	C2
Nay let thy men of wit too be the same	P
All full of thee and differing but in name	P
But let no alien Sedley interpose	J
To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose	J
And when false flowers of rhetoric thou would'st cull	L
Trust Nature do not labour to be dull	L
But write thy best and top and in each line	S2
Sir Formal's oratory will be thine	S2
Sir Formal though unsought attends thy quill	T2
And does thy Northern Dedications fill	T2
Nor let false friends seduce thy mind to fame	P
By arrogating Jonson's hostile name	P
Let Father Flecknoe fire thy mind with praise	J
And Uncle Ogleby thy envy raise	J
Thou art my blood where Jonson has no part	U2
What share have we in Nature or in Art	U2
Where did his wit on learning fix a brand	U
And rail at arts he did not understand	U
Where made he love in Prince	J

John Dryden

Mac Flecknoe: A Satire Upon The True-blue Protestant Poet T Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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