On The Death Of Dr. Swift Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A B C DDEEFFGGHHIIJJKKDDLL EEMMEEEENNOOPPQREESS EEMMTAUUVVEEWWEEXXYY EEEEZZEEEEZZA2A2GGEE B2C2SSEED2E2EEAF2EEG 2G2AAEEZZEEH2H2I2I2E EUUJ2J2K2K2HHHHEEHHH HPPEEEEA2A2AAL2L2EEE EEEM2M2EEN2N2EEMMO2O 2HHZZEEMMEEEEAAZZHHH HEEEEP2P2EEEEH2H2K2K 2OOHHQ2Q2EEHHAAHHEEE EWWAAAAHHEEEEAAP2P2K 2K2HHHHR2R2R2R2EEEER 2R2EEHHAAP2P2EER2R2E EHHZZL2L2HHAAZZEES2S 2ZZP2P2EEMMMMEEMMT2T 2EEEEMMT2T2AAHHAAHHE EEEHHEEHHZZEEZZZAAEE EEHHH2H2K2K2EEZZAEAA HHU2U2V2V2NNZZHHHHMM EEHHHHEEHHNNZZEEAAEE AANNEEEEH2H2EEEEEEHH AAK2MAAHHHHEEEEHHEER 2R2T2T2AAEEP2P2AAHHE EMMHHHHHHEER2R2K2MEE EEW2W2MMEEEEHHMMEEEE WWX2X2ZZHHHHMMEEEEHH HHAAEEEEAAEEEEAAHHMM EEY2Y2HHAAHHMMEEZZEE EEZ2Z2HHEEEEEEEEZZA3 A3HHEEEEB3B3AAHH

WRITTEN IN NOVEMBER	A
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Occasioned by reading the following maxim in Rochefoucauld Dans l'adversit de nos meilleurs amis nous trouvons toujours quelque chose qui ne nous d plait pas	B
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This maxim was No in the edition of and was one of those suppressed by the author in his later editions In the edition published by Didot Freres it is No in the first supplement See it commented upon by Lord Chesterfield in a letter to his son Sept where he takes a similar view to that expressed by Swift	C
	-
	-
AS Rochefoucauld his maxims drew	D
From nature I believe 'em true	D
They argue no corrupted mind	E
In him the fault is in mankind	E
This maxim more than all the rest	F
Is thought too base for human breast	F
In all distresses of our friends	G
We first consult our private ends	G
While nature kindly bent to ease us	H
Points out some circumstance to please us	H
If this perhaps your patience move	I
Let reason and experience prove	I
We all behold with envious eyes	J
Our equal raised above our size	J
Who would not at a crowded show	K
Stand high himself keep others low	K
I love my friend as well as you	D
But why should he obstruct my view	D
Then let me have the higher post	L
Suppose it but an inch at most	L
If in battle you should find	E
One whom you love of all mankind	E
Had some heroic action done	M
A champion kill'd or trophy won	M
Rather than thus be overtopt	E
Would you not wish his laurels cropt	E
Dear honest Ned is in the gout	E
Lies rackt with pain and you without	E
How patiently you hear him groan	N
How glad the case is not your own	N
What poet would not grieve to see	O
His breth'ren write as well as he	O
But rather than they should excel	P
He'd wish his rivals all in hell	P
Her end when Emulation misses	Q
She turns to Envy stings and hisses	R
The strongest friendship yields to pride	E
Unless the odds be on our side	E
Vain human kind fantastic race	S
Thy various follies who can trace	S
Self love ambition envy pride	E
Their empire in our hearts divide	E
Give others riches power and station	M
'Tis all on me an usurpation	M
I have no title to aspire	T
Yet when you sink I seem the higher	A
In Pope I cannot read a line	U
But with a sigh I wish it mine	U
When he can in one couplet fix	V
More sense than I can do in six	V
It gives me such a jealous fit	E
I cry Pox take him and his wit	E
I grieve to be outdone by Gay	W
In my own hum'rous biting way	W
Arbuthnot is no more my friend	E
Who dares to irony pretend	E
Which I was born to introduce	X
Refin'd it first and shew'd its use	X
St John as well as Pultney knows	Y
That I had some repute for prose	Y
And till they drove me out of date	E
Could maul a minister of state	E
If they have mortify'd my pride	E
And made me throw my pen aside	E
If with such talents Heav'n has blest 'em	Z
Have I not reason to detest 'em	Z
To all my foes dear Fortune send	E
Thy gifts but never to my friend	E
I tamely can endure the first	E
But this with envy makes me burst	E
Thus much may serve by way of proem	Z
Proceed we therefore to our poem	Z
The time is not remote when I	A2
Must by the course of nature die	A2
When I foresee my special friends	G
Will try to find their private ends	G
Tho' it is hardly understood	E
Which way my death can do them good	E
Yet thus methinks I hear 'em speak	B2
See how the Dean begins to break	C2
Poor gentleman he droops apace	S
You plainly find it in his face	S
That old vertigo in his head	E
Will never leave him till he's dead	E
Besides his memory decays	D2
He recollects not what he says	E2
He cannot call his friends to mind	E
Forgets the place where last he din'd	E
Plyes you with stories o'er and o'er	A
He told them fifty times before	F2
How does he fancy we can sit	E
To hear his out of fashion'd wit	E
But he takes up with younger folks	G2
Who for his wine will bear his jokes	G2
Faith he must make his stories shorter	A
Or change his comrades once a quarter	A
In half the time he talks them round	E
There must another set be found	E
For poetry he's past his prime	Z
He takes an hour to find a rhyme	Z
His fire is out his wit decay'd	E
His fancy sunk his Muse a jade	E
I'd have him throw away his pen	H2
But there's no talking to some men	H2
And then their tenderness appears	I2
By adding largely to my years	I2
He's older than he would be reckon'd	E
And well remembers Charles the Second	E
He hardly drinks a pint of wine	U
And that I doubt is no good sign	U
His stomach too begins to fail	J2
Last year we thought him strong and hale	J2
But now he's quite another thing	K2
I wish he may hold out till spring	K2
Then hug themselves and reason thus	H
It is not yet so bad with us	H
In such a case they talk in tropes	H
And by their fears express their hopes	H
Some great misfortune to portend	E
No enemy can match a friend	E
With all the kindness they profess	H
The merit of a lucky guess	H
When daily how d'ye's come of course	H
And servants answer Worse and worse	H
Wou'd please 'em better than to tell	P
That God be prais'd the Dean is well	P
Then he who prophecy'd the best	E
Approves his foresight to the rest	E
You know I always fear'd the worst	E
And often told you so at first	E
He'd rather chuse that I should die	A2
Than his prediction prove a lie	A2
Not one foretells I shall recover	A
But all agree to give me over	A
Yet shou'd some neighbour feel a pain	L2
Just in the parts where I complain	L2
How many a message would he send	E
What hearty prayers that I should mend	E
Inquire what regimen I kept	E
What gave me ease and how I slept	E
And more lament when I was dead	E
Than all the sniv'llers round my bed	E
My good companions never fear	M2
For though you may mistake a year	M2
Though your prognostics run too fast	E
They must be verify'd at last	E
Behold the fatal day arrive	N2
How is the Dean He's just alive	N2
Now the departing prayer is read	E
He hardly breathes The Dean is dead	E
Before the Passing bell begun	M
The news thro' half the town has run	M
O may we all for death prepare	O2
What has he left and who's his heir	O2
I know no more than what the news is	H
'Tis all bequeath'd to public uses	H
To public use a perfect whim	Z
What had the public done for him	Z
Mere envy avarice and pride	E
He gave it all but first he died	E
And had the Dean in all the nation	M
No worthy friend no poor relation	M
So ready to do strangers good	E
Forgetting his own flesh and blood	E
Now Grub Street wits are all employ'd	E
With elegies the town is cloy'd	E
Some paragraph in ev'ry paper	A
To curse the Dean or bless the Drapier	A
The doctors tender of their fame	Z
Wisely on me lay all the blame	Z
We must confess his case was nice	H
But he would never take advice	H
Had he been ruled for aught appears	H
He might have lived these twenty years	H
For when we open'd him we found	E
That all his vital parts were sound	E
From Dublin soon to London spread	E
'Tis told at court the Dean is dead	E
Kind Lady Suffolk in the spleen	P2
Runs laughing up to tell the queen	P2
The queen so gracious mild and good	E
Cries Is he gone 'tis time he shou'd	E
He's dead you say why let him rot	E
I'm glad the medals were forgot	E
I promised him I own but when	H2
I only was a princess then	H2
But now as consort of a king	K2
You know 'tis quite a different thing	K2
Now Chartres at Sir Robert's levee	O
Tells with a sneer the tidings heavy	O
Why is he dead without his shoes	H
Cries Bob I'm sorry for the news	H
O were the wretch but living still	Q2
And in his place my good friend Will	Q2
Or had a mitre on his head	E
Provided Bolingbroke were dead	E
Now Curll his shop from rubbish drains	H
Three genuine tomes of Swift's remains	H
And then to make them pass the glibber	A
Revised by Tibbalds Moore and Cibber	A
He'll treat me as he does my betters	H
Publish my will my life my letters	H
Revive the libels born to die	E
Which Pope must bear as well as I	E
Here shift the scene to represent	E
How those I love my death lament	E
Poor Pope will grieve a month and Gay	W
A week and Arbuthnot a day	W
St John himself will scarce forbear	A
To bite his pen and drop a tear	A
The rest will give a shrug and cry	A
I'm sorry but we all must die	A
Indifference clad in Wisdom's guise	H
All fortitude of mind supplies	H
For how can stony bowels melt	E
In those who never pity felt	E
When we are lash'd they kiss the rod	E
Resigning to the will of God	E
The fools my juniors by a year	A
Are tortur'd with suspense and fear	A
Who wisely thought my age a screen	P2
When death approach'd to stand between	P2
The screen removed their hearts are trembling	K2
They mourn for me without dissembling	K2
My female friends whose tender hearts	H
Have better learn'd to act their parts	H
Receive the news in doleful dumps	H
The Dean is dead and what is trumps	H
Then Lord have mercy on his soul	R2
Ladies I'll venture for the vole	R2
Six deans they say must bear the pall	R2
I wish I knew what king to call	R2
Madam your husband will attend	E
The funeral of so good a friend	E
No madam 'tis a shocking sight	E
And he's engaged to morrow night	E
My Lady Club wou'd take it ill	R2
If he shou'd fail her at quadrille	R2
He loved the Dean I lead a heart	E
But dearest friends they say must part	E
His time was come he ran his race	H
We hope he's in a better place	H
Why do we grieve that friends should die	A
No loss more easy to supply	A
One year is past a different scene	P2
No further mention of the Dean	P2
Who now alas no more is miss'd	E
Than if he never did exist	E
Where's now this fav'rite of Apollo	R2
Departed and his works must follow	R2
Must undergo the common fate	E
His kind of wit is out of date	E
Some country squire to Lintot goes	H
Inquires for Swift in Verse and Prose	H
Says Lintot I have heard the name	Z
He died a year ago The same	Z
He searches all the shop in vain	L2
Sir you may find them in Duck lane	L2
I sent them with a load of books	H
Last Monday to the pastry cook's	H
To fancy they could live a year	A
I find you're but a stranger here	A
The Dean was famous in his time	Z
And had a kind of knack at rhyme	Z
His way of writing now is past	E
The town has got a better taste	E
I keep no antiquated stuff	S2
But spick and span I have enough	S2
Pray do but give me leave to show 'em	Z
Here's Colley Cibber's birth day poem	Z
This ode you never yet have seen	P2
By Stephen Duck upon the queen	P2
Then here's a letter finely penned	E
Against the Craftsman and his friend	E
It clearly shows that all reflection	M
On ministers is disaffection	M
Next here's Sir Robert's vindication	M
And Mr Henley's last oration	M
The hawkers have not got them yet	E
Your honour please to buy a set	E
Here's Woolston's tracts the twelfth edition	M
'Tis read by every politician	M
The country members when in town	T2
To all their boroughs send them down	T2
You never met a thing so smart	E
The courtiers have them all by heart	E
Those maids of honour who can read	E
Are taught to use them for their creed	E
The rev'rend author's good intention	M
Has been rewarded with a pension	M
He does an honour to his gown	T2
By bravely running priestcraft down	T2
He shows as sure as God's in Gloucester	A
That Moses was a grand impostor	A
That all his miracles were cheats	H
Perform'd as jugglers do their feats	H
The church had never such a writer	A
A shame he has not got a mitre	A
Suppose me dead and then suppose	H
A club assembled at the Rose	H
Where from discourse of this and that	E
I grow the subject of their chat	E
And while they toss my name about	E
With favour some and some without	E
One quite indiff'rent in the cause	H
My character impartial draws	H
The Dean if we believe report	E
Was never ill receiv'd at court	E
As for his works in verse and prose	H
I own myself no judge of those	H
Nor can I tell what critics thought 'em	Z
But this I know all people bought 'em	Z
As with a moral view design'd	E
To cure the vices of mankind	E
And if he often miss'd his aim	Z
The world must own it to their shame	Z
The praise is his and theirs the blame	Z
Sir I have heard another story	A
He was a most confounded Tory	A
And grew or he is much belied	E
Extremely dull before he died	E
Can we the Drapier then forget	E
Is not our nation in his debt	E
'Twas he that writ the Drapier's letters	H
He should have left them for his betters	H
We had a hundred abler men	H2
Nor need depend upon his pen	H2
Say what you will about his reading	K2
You never can defend his breeding	K2
Who in his satires running riot	E
Could never leave the world in quiet	E
Attacking when he took the whim	Z
Court city camp all one to him	Z
But why should he except he slobber't	A
Offend our patriot great Sir Robert	E
Whose counsels aid the sov'reign power	A
To save the nation every hour	A
What scenes of evil he unravels	H
In satires libels lying travels	H
Not sparing his own clergy cloth	U2
But eats into it like a moth	U2
His vein ironically grave	V2
Exposed the fool and lash'd the knave	V2
To steal a hint was never known	N
But what he writ was all his own	N
He never thought an honour done him	Z
Because a duke was proud to own him	Z
Would rather slip aside and chuse	H
To talk with wits in dirty shoes	H
Despised the fools with stars and garters	H
So often seen caressing Chartres	H
He never courted men in station	M
Nor persons held in admiration	M
Of no man's greatness was afraid	E
Because he sought for no man's aid	E
Though trusted long in great affairs	H
He gave himself no haughty airs	H
Without regarding private ends	H
Spent all his credit for his friends	H
And only chose the wise and good	E
No flatterers no allies in blood	E
But succour'd virtue in distress	H
And seldom fail'd of good success	H
As numbers in their hearts must own	N
Who but for him had been unknown	N
With princes kept a due decorum	Z
But never stood in awe before 'em	Z
He follow'd David's lesson just	E
In princes never put thy trust	E
And would you make him truly sour	A
Provoke him with a slave in power	A
The Irish senate if you named	E
With what impatience he declaim'd	E
Fair LIBERTY was all his cry	A
For her he stood prepared to die	A
For her he boldly stood alone	N
For her he oft exposed his own	N
Two kingdoms just as faction led	E
Had set a price upon his head	E
But not a traitor could be found	E
To sell him for six hundred pound	E
Had he but spared his tongue and pen	H2
He might have rose like other men	H2
But power was never in his thought	E
And wealth he valued not a groat	E
Ingratitude he often found	E
And pitied those who meant the wound	E
But kept the tenor of his mind	E
To merit well of human kind	E
Nor made a sacrifice of those	H
Who still were true to please his foes	H
He labour'd many a fruitless hour	A
To reconcile his friends in power	A
Saw mischief by a faction brewing	K2
While they pursued each other's ruin	M
But finding vain was all his care	A
He left the court in mere despair	A
And oh how short are human schemes	H
Here ended all our golden dreams	H
What St John's skill in state affairs	H
What Ormond's valour Oxford's cares	H
To save their sinking country lent	E
Was all destroy'd by one event	E
Too soon that precious life was ended	E
On which alone our weal depended	E
When up a dangerous faction starts	H
With wrath and vengeance in their hearts	H
By solemn League and Cov'nant bound	E
To ruin slaughter and confound	E
To turn religion to a fable	R2
And make the government a Babel	R2
Pervert the laws disgrace the gown	T2
Corrupt the senate rob the crown	T2
To sacrifice old England's glory	A
And make her infamous in story	A
When such a tempest shook the land	E
How could unguarded Virtue stand	E
With horror grief despair the Dean	P2
Beheld the dire destructive scene	P2
His friends in exile or the tower	A
Himself within the frown of power	A
Pursued by base envenom'd pens	H
Far to the land of slaves and fens	H
A servile race in folly nursed	E
Who truckle most when treated worst	E
By innocence and resolution	M
He bore continual persecution	M
While numbers to preferment rose	H
Whose merits were to be his foes	H
When ev'n his own familiar friends	H
Intent upon their private ends	H
Like renegadoes now he feels	H
Against him lifting up their heels	H
The Dean did by his pen defeat	E
An infamous destructive cheat	E
Taught fools their int'rest how to know	R2
And gave them arms to ward the blow	R2
Envy has own'd it was his doing	K2
To save that hapless land from ruin	M
While they who at the steerage stood	E
And reap'd the profit sought his blood	E
To save them from their evil fate	E
In him was held a crime of state	E
A wicked monster on the bench	W2
Whose fury blood could never quench	W2
As vile and profligate a villain	M
As modern Scroggs or old Tresilian	M
Who long all justice had discarded	E
Nor fear'd he God nor man regarded	E
Vow'd on the Dean his rage to vent	E
And make him of his zeal repent	E
But Heaven his innocence defends	H
The grateful people stand his friends	H
Not strains of law nor judge's frown	M
Nor topics brought to please the crown	M
Nor witness hired nor jury pick'd	E
Prevail to bring him in convict	E
In exile with a steady heart	E
He spent his life's declining part	E
Where folly pride and faction sway	W
Remote from St John Pope and Gay	W
Alas poor Dean his only scope	X2
Was to be held a misanthrope	X2
This into gen'ral odium drew him	Z
Which if he liked much good may't do him	Z
His zeal was not to lash our crimes	H
But discontent against the times	H
For had we made him timely offers	H
To raise his post or fill his coffers	H
Perhaps he might have truckled down	M
Like other brethren of his gown	M
For party he would scarce have bled	E
I say no more because he's dead	E
What writings has he left behind	E
I hear they're of a different kind	E
A few in verse but most in prose	H
Some high flown pamphlets I suppose	H
All scribbled in the worst of times	H
To palliate his friend Oxford's crimes	H
To praise Queen Anne nay more defend her	A
As never fav'ring the Pretender	A
Or libels yet conceal'd from sight	E
Against the court to show his spite	E
Perhaps his travels part the third	E
A lie at every second word	E
Offensive to a loyal ear	A
But not one sermon you may swear	A
His friendships there to few confined	E
Were always of the middling kind	E
No fools of rank a mongrel breed	E
Who fain would pass for lords indeed	E
Where titles give no right or power	A
And peerage is a wither'd flower	A
He would have held it a disgrace	H
If such a wretch had known his face	H
On rural squires that kingdom's bane	M
He vented oft his wrath in vain	M
Biennial squires to market brought	E
Who sell their souls and votes for nought	E
The nation stripped go joyful back	Y2
To the church their tenants rack	Y2
Go snacks with rogues and rapparees	H
And keep the peace to pick up fees	H
In every job to have a share	A
A gaol or barrack to repair	A
And turn the tax for public roads	H
Commodious to their own abodes	H
Perhaps I may allow the Dean	M
Had too much satire in his vein	M
And seem'd determined not to starve it	E
Because no age could more deserve it	E
Yet malice never was his aim	Z
He lash'd the vice but spared the name	Z
No individual could resent	E
Where thousands equally were meant	E
His satire points at no defect	E
But what all mortals may correct	E
For he abhorr'd that senseless tribe	Z2
Who call it humour when they gibe	Z2
He spared a hump or crooked nose	H
Whose owners set not up for beaux	H
True genuine dulness moved his pity	E
Unless it offer'd to be witty	E
Those who their ignorance confest	E
He ne'er offended with a jest	E
But laugh'd to hear an idiot quote	E
A verse from Horace learn'd by rote	E
Vice if it e'er can be abash'd	E
Must be or ridiculed or lash'd	E
If you resent it who's to blame	Z
He neither knew you nor your name	Z
Should vice expect to 'scape rebuke	A3
Because its owner is a duke	A3
He knew an hundred pleasant stories	H
With all the turns of Whigs and Tories	H
Was cheerful to his dying day	E
And friends would let him have his way	E
He gave the little wealth he had	E
To build a house for fools and mad	E
And show'd by one satiric touch	B3
No nation wanted it so much	B3
That kingdom he hath left his debtor	A
I wish it soon may have a better	A
And since you dread no farther lashes	H
Methinks you may forgive his ashes	H

Jonathan Swift

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