Prologue To "cësar Borgia;"[1] By Nathan Lee, 1680. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABCDEFFGHIIJJJKKLLM MNNOOJJPPQQRRSTUVVTT WWThe unhappy man who once has trail'd a pen | A |
Lives not to please himself but other men | A |
Is always drudging wastes his life and blood | B |
Yet only eats and drinks what you think good | C |
What praise soe'er the poetry deserve | D |
Yet every fool can bid the poet starve | E |
That fumbling lecher to revenge is bent | F |
Because he thinks himself or whore is meant | F |
Name but a cuckold all the city swarms | G |
From Leadenhall to Ludgate is in arms | H |
Were there no fear of Antichrist or France | I |
In the bless'd time poor poets live by chance | I |
Either you come not here or as you grace | J |
Some old acquaintance drop into the place | J |
Careless and qualmish with a yawning face | J |
You sleep o'er wit and by my troth you may | K |
Most of your talents lie another way | K |
You love to hear of some prodigious tale | L |
The bell that toll'd alone or Irish whale | L |
News is your food and you enough provide | M |
Both for yourselves and all the world beside | M |
One theatre there is of vast resort | N |
Which whilome of Requests was called the Court | N |
But now the great Exchange of News 'tis hight | O |
And full of hum and buzz from noon till night | O |
Up stairs and down you run as for a race | J |
And each man wears three nations in his face | J |
So big you look though claret you retrench | P |
That arm'd with bottled ale you huff the French | P |
But all your entertainment still is fed | Q |
By villains in your own dull island bred | Q |
Would you return to us we dare engage | R |
To show you better rogues upon the stage | R |
You know no poison but plain ratsbane here | S |
Death's more refined and better bred elsewhere | T |
They have a civil way in Italy | U |
By smelling a perfume to make you die | V |
A trick would make you lay your snuff box by | V |
Murder's a trade so known and practised there | T |
That 'tis infallible as is the Chair | T |
But mark their feast you shall behold such pranks | W |
The Pope says grace but 'tis the Devil gives thanks | W |
John Dryden
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