Baucis And Philemon Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHIIJJ CCKKLLMMNNOOPPQQRRSS BTDUVVOOWXYZKKKA2B2B 2C2C2D2D2E2E2F2F2G2G 2H2KI2I2KKI2I2J2J2I2 I2K2K2L2L2M2M2SSC2C2 I2I2M2N2I2I2KKO2O2I2 I2P2Q2R2R2S2S2I2I2T2 T2U2U2S2XG2G2V2V2SSI 2I2Q2Q2I2I2I2I2I2I2U 2U2W2W2U2U2U2U2X2X2U 2U2WWY2Y2Z2Z2I2I2A3A 3I2XB3B3SSI2XQ2Q2U2U 2I2I2C3C3SSU2U2I2I2I 2I2

IN ancient times as story tellsA
The saints would often leave their cellsA
And stroll about but hide their qualityB
To try good people's hospitalityB
It happened on a winter nightC
As authors of the legend writeC
Two brother hermits saints by tradeD
Taking their tour in masqueradeD
Disguised in tattered habits wentE
To a small village down in KentE
Where in the strollers' canting strainF
They begged from door to door in vainF
Tried every tone might pity winG
But not a soul would let them inG
Our wandering saints in woeful stateH
Treated at this ungodly rateH
Having through all the village passedI
To a small cottage came at lastI
Where dwelt a good honest old yeomanJ
Called in the neighbourhood PhilemonJ
Who kindly did these saints inviteC
In his poor hut to pass the nightC
And then the hospitable SireK
Bid goody Baucis mend the fireK
While he from out the chimney tookL
A flitch of bacon off the hookL
And freely from the fattest sideM
Cut out large slices to be friedM
Then stepped aside to fetch 'em drinkN
Filled a large jug up to the brinkN
And saw it fairly twice go roundO
Yet what is wonderful they foundO
'Twas still replenished to the topP
As if they ne'er had touched a dropP
The good old couple were amazedQ
And often on each other gazedQ
For both were frightened to the heartR
And just began to cry What artR
Then softly turned aside to viewS
Whether the lights were burning blueS
The gentle pilgrims soon aware on'tB
Told 'em their calling and their errantT
'Good folks you need not be afraidD
We are but saints ' the hermits saidU
'No hurt shall come to you or yoursV
But for that pack of churlish boorsV
Not fit to live on Christian groundO
They and their houses shall be drownedO
Whilst you shall see your cottage riseW
And grow a church before your eyes 'X
They scarce had spoke when fair and softY
The roof began to mount aloftZ
Aloft rose every beam and rafterK
The heavy wall climbed slowly afterK
The chimney widened and grew higherK
Became a steeple with a spireA2
The kettle to the top was hoistB2
And there stood fastened to a joistB2
But with the upside down to showC2
Its inclination for belowC2
In vain for a superior forceD2
Applied at bottom stops its coarseD2
Doomed ever in suspense to dwellE2
'Tis now no kettle but a bellE2
A wooden jack which had almostF2
Lost by disuse the art to roastF2
A sudden alteration feelsG2
Increased by new intestine wheelsG2
And what exalts the wonder moreH2
The number made the motion slowerK
The flyer though 't had leaden feetI2
Turned round so quick you scarce could see 'tI2
But slackened by some secret powerK
Now hardly moves an inch an hourK
The jack and chimney near alliedI2
Had never left each other's sideI2
The chimney to a steeple grownJ2
The jack would not be left aloneJ2
But up against the steeple rearedI2
Became a clock and still adheredI2
And still its love to household caresK2
By a shrill voice at noon declaresK2
Warning the cook maid not to burnL2
That roast meat which it cannot turnL2
The groaning chair began to crawlM2
Like a huge snail along the wallM2
There stuck aloft in public viewS
And with small change a pulpit grewS
The porringers that in a rowC2
Hung high and made a glittering showC2
To a less noble substance changedI2
Were now but leathern buckets rangedI2
The ballads pasted on the wallM2
Of Joan of France and English MollN2
Fair Rosamond and Robin HoodI2
The Little Children in the WoodI2
Now seemed to look abundance betterK
Improved in picture size and letterK
And high in order placed describeO2
The heraldry of every tribeO2
A bedstead of the antique modeI2
Compact of timber many a loadI2
Such as our ancestors did useP2
Was metamorphosed into pewsQ2
Which still their ancient nature keepR2
By lodging folks disposed to sleepR2
The cottage by such feats as theseS2
Grown to a church by just degreesS2
The hermits then desired their hostI2
To ask for what he fancied mostI2
Philemon having paused a whileT2
Returned 'em thanks in homely styleT2
Then said 'My house is grown so fineU2
Methinks I still would call it mineU2
I'm old and fain would live at easeS2
Make me the Parson if you please 'X
He spoke and presently he feelsG2
His grazier's coat fall down his heelsG2
He sees yet hardly can believeV2
About each arm a pudding sleeveV2
His waistcoat to a cassock grewS
And both assumed a sable hueS
But being old continued justI2
As thread bare and as full of dustI2
His talk was now of tithes and duesQ2
He smoked his pipe and read the newsQ2
Knew how to preach old sermons nextI2
Vamped in the preface and the textI2
At christenings well could act his partI2
And had the service all by heartI2
Wished women might have children fastI2
And thought whose sow had farrowed lastI2
Against Dissenters would repineU2
And stood up firm for Right divineU2
Found his head filled with many a systemW2
But classic authors he ne'er missed 'emW2
Thus having furbished up a parsonU2
Dame Baucis next they played their farce onU2
Instead of home spun coifs were seenU2
Good pinners edg'd with colberteenU2
Her petticoat transformed apaceX2
Became black satin flounced with laceX2
Plain Goody would no longer downU2
'Twas Madam in her grogram gownU2
Philemon was in great surpriseW
And hardly could believe his eyesW
Amazed to see her look so primY2
And she admired as much at himY2
Thus happy in their change of lifeZ2
Were several years this man and wifeZ2
When on a day which proved their lastI2
Discoursing o'er old stories pastI2
They went by chance amidst their talkA3
To the church yard to take a walkA3
When Baucis hastily cried outI2
'My dear I see your forehead sprout 'X
'Sprout ' quoth the man 'what's this you tell usB3
I hope you don't believe me jealousB3
But yet methinks I feel it trueS
And really yours is budding tooS
Nay now I cannot stir my footI2
It feels as if 'twere taking root 'X
Description would but tire my MuseQ2
In short they both were turned to YewsQ2
Old Goodman Dobson of the greenU2
Remembers he the trees has seenU2
He'll talk of them from noon till nightI2
And goes with folks to show the sightI2
On Sundays after evening prayerC3
He gathers all the parish thereC3
Points out the place of either YewS
Here Baucis there Philemon grewS
Till once a parson of our townU2
To mend his barn cut Baucis downU2
At which 'tis hard to be believedI2
How much the other tree was grievedI2
Grow scrubby died a top was stuntedI2
So the next parson stubbed and burnt itI2

Jonathan Swift



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