My Lady's[1] Lamentation And Complaint Against The Dean Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A BBCCDDEEFG HHIIJKCCLLMMNNOOHHPP HHQQGGRRSSTTNNUUVWRR XXCCWWYYZZA2A2B2B2C2 C2IIUUD2D2E2E2F2F2UU UUUUC2C2G2G2GGH2ZUUU UUUC2C2UUIII2I2J2PK2 K2UUL2L2M2M2G2G2G2G2 UUN2N2O2O2P2P2Q2Q2GG F2F2BBG2G2UUE2E2R2R2 S2S2UUUUCCUUT2T2U2U2 P2P2V2IG2G2R2R2UUUUU UW2W2X2X2G2G2Y2Y2UUZ 2Z2UUUUUUUUIIZZG2G2A 3A3TTG2G2IR2U2B3UUP2 P2BBIBBBZ2Z2UUC3C3UU BBBF2IIIIUUUU

JULYA
-
Sure never did man seeB
A wretch like poor NancyB
So teazed day and nightC
By a Dean and a KnightC
To punish my sinsD
Sir Arthur beginsD
And gives me a wipeE
With Skinny and SnipeE
His malice is plainF
Hallooing the DeanG
-
The Dean never stopsH
When he opens his chopsH
I'm quite overrunI
With rebus and punI
Before he came hereJ
To spunge for good cheerK
I sat with delightC
From morning till nightC
With two bony thumbsL
Could rub my old gumsL
Or scratching my noseM
And jogging my toesM
But at present forsoothN
I must not rub a toothN
When my elbows he seesO
Held up by my kneesO
My arms like two propsH
Supporting my chopsH
And just as I handle 'emP
Moving all like a pendulumP
He trips up my propsH
And down my chin dropsH
From my head to my heelsQ
Like a clock without wheelsQ
I sink in the spleenG
A useless machineG
If he had his willR
I should never sit stillR
He comes with his whimsS
I must move my limbsS
I cannot be sweetT
Without using my feetT
To lengthen my breathN
He tires me to deathN
By the worst of all squiresU
Thro' bogs and thro' briersU
Where a cow would be startledV
I'm in spite of my heart ledW
And say what I willR
Haul'd up every hillR
Till daggled and tatter'dX
My spirits quite shatter'dX
I return home at nightC
And fast out of spiteC
For I'd rather be deadW
Than it e'er should be saidW
I was better for himY
In stomach or limbY
But now to my dietZ
No eating in quietZ
He's still finding faultA2
Too sour or too saltA2
The wing of a chickB2
I hardly can pickB2
But trash without measureC2
I swallow with pleasureC2
Next for his diversionI
He rails at my personI
What court breeding this isU
He takes me to piecesU
From shoulder to flankD2
I'm lean and am lankD2
My nose long and thinE2
Grows down to my chinE2
My chin will not stayF2
But meets it halfwayF2
My fingers prolixU
Are ten crooked sticksU
He swears my el bowsU
Are two iron crowsU
Or sharp pointed rocksU
And wear out my smocksU
To 'scape them Sir ArthurC2
Is forced to lie fartherC2
Or his sides they would goreG2
Like the tusks of a boarG2
Now changing the sceneG
But still to the DeanG
He loves to be bitter atH2
A lady illiterateZ
If he sees her but onceU
He'll swear she's a dunceU
Can tell by her looksU
A hater of booksU
Thro' each line of her faceU
Her folly can traceU
Which spoils every featureC2
Bestow'd her by natureC2
But sense gives a graceU
To the homeliest faceU
Wise books and reflectionI
Will mend the complexionI
A civil divineI2
I suppose meaning mineI2
No lady who wants themJ2
Can ever be handsomeP
I guess well enoughK2
What he means by this stuffK2
He haws and he humsU
At last out it comesU
What madam No walkingL2
No reading nor talkingL2
You're now in your primeM2
Make use of your timeM2
Consider beforeG2
You come to threescoreG2
How the hussies will fleerG2
Where'er you appearG2
That silly old pussU
Would fain be like usU
What a figure she madeN2
In her tarnish'd brocadeN2
And then he grows mildO2
Come be a good childO2
If you are inclinedP2
To polish your mindP2
Be adored by the menQ2
Till threescore and tenQ2
And kill with the spleenG
The jades of sixteenG
I'll show you the wayF2
Read six hours a dayF2
The wits will frequent yeB
And think you but twentyB
To make you learn fasterG2
I'll be your schoolmasterG2
And leave you to chooseU
The books you peruseU
Thus was I drawn inE2
Forgive me my sinE2
At breakfast he'll askR2
An account of my taskR2
Put a word out of jointS2
Or miss but a pointS2
He rages and fretsU
His manners forgetsU
And as I am seriousU
Is very imperiousU
No book for delightC
Must come in my sightC
But instead of new playsU
Dull Bacon's EssaysU
And pore every day onT2
That nasty PantheonT2
If I be not a drudgeU2
Let all the world judgeU2
'Twere better be blindP2
Than thus be confinedP2
But while in an ill toneV2
I murder poor MiltonI
The Dean you will swearG2
Is at study or prayerG2
He's all the day saunteringR2
With labourers banteringR2
Among his colleaguesU
A parcel of TeaguesU
Whom he brings in among usU
And bribes with mundungusU
He little believesU
How they laugh in their sleevesU
Hail fellow well metW2
All dirty and wetW2
Find out if you canX2
Who's master who's manX2
Who makes the best figureG2
The Dean or the diggerG2
And which is the bestY2
At cracking a jestY2
Now see how he sitsU
Perplexing his witsU
In search of a mottoZ2
To fix on his grottoZ2
How proudly he talksU
Of zigzags and walksU
And all the day ravesU
Of cradles and cavesU
And boasts of his featsU
His grottos and seatsU
Shows all his gewgawsU
And gapes for applauseU
A fine occupationI
For one in his stationI
A hole where a rabbitZ
Would scorn to inhabitZ
Dug out in an hourG2
He calls it a bowerG2
But O how we laughA3
To see a wild calfA3
Come driven by heatT
And foul the green seatT
Or run helter skelterG2
To his arbour for shelterG2
Where all goes to ruinI
The Dean has been doingR2
The girls of the villageU2
Come flocking for pillageB3
Pull down the fine briersU
And thorns to make firesU
But yet are so kindP2
To leave something behindP2
No more need be said on'tB
I smell when I tread on'tB
Dear friend Doctor JinnyI
If I could but win yeB
Or Walmsley or WhaleyB
To come hither dailyB
Since fortune my foeZ2
Will needs have it soZ2
That I'm by her frownsU
Condemn'd to black gownsU
No squire to be foundC3
The neighbourhood roundC3
For under the roseU
I would rather choose thoseU
If your wives will permit yeB
Come here out of pityB
To ease a poor ladyB
And beg her a play dayF2
So may you be seenI
No more in the spleenI
May Walmsley give wineI
Like a hearty divineI
May Whaley disgraceU
Dull Daniel's whey faceU
And may your three spousesU
Let you lie at friends' housesU

Jonathan Swift



Rate:
(1)



Poem topics: , Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme

Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation


Write your comment about My Lady's[1] Lamentation And Complaint Against The Dean poem by Jonathan Swift


 

Recent Interactions*

This poem was read 4 times,

This poem was added to the favorite list by 0 members,

This poem was voted by 0 members.

(* Interactions only in the last 7 days)

New Poems

Popular Poets