The Fable Of Midas.[1] Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Collated with Stella's copy Forster	A
	-
Midas we are in story told	B
Turn'd every thing he touch'd to gold	B
He chipp'd his bread the pieces round	C
Glitter'd like spangles on the ground	C
A codling ere it went his lip in	D
Would straight become a golden pippin	D
He call'd for drink you saw him sup	E
Potable gold in golden cup	E
His empty paunch that he might fill	F
He suck'd his victuals thro' a quill	F
Untouch'd it pass'd between his grinders	G
Or't had been happy for gold finders	G
He cock'd his hat you would have said	H
Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head	H
Whene'er he chanced his hands to lay	I
On magazines of corn or hay	I
Gold ready coin'd appear'd instead	H
Of paltry provender and bread	H
Hence we are by wise farmers told	B
Old hay is equal to old gold	B
And hence a critic deep maintains	J
We learn'd to weigh our gold by grains	J
This fool had got a lucky hit	K
And people fancied he had wit	K
Two gods their skill in music tried	L
And both chose Midas to decide	L
He against Ph oelig bus' harp decreed	M
And gave it for Pan's oaten reed	M
The god of wit to show his grudge	N
Clapt asses' ears upon the judge	N
A goodly pair erect and wide	L
Which he could neither gild nor hide	L
And now the virtue of his hands	O
Was lost among Pactolus' sands	O
Against whose torrent while he swims	P
The golden scurf peels off his limbs	P
Fame spreads the news and people travel	Q
From far to gather golden gravel	Q
Midas exposed to all their jeers	R
Had lost his art and kept his ears	S
This tale inclines the gentle reader	A
To think upon a certain leader	A
To whom from Midas down descends	T
That virtue in the fingers' ends	T
What else by perquisites are meant	U
By pensions bribes and three per cent	U
By places and commissions sold	B
And turning dung itself to gold	B
By starving in the midst of store	V
As t'other Midas did before	V
None e'er did modern Midas chuse	W
Subject or patron of his muse	W
But found him thus their merit scan	X
That Phoebus must give place to Pan	X
He values not the poet's praise	Y
Nor will exchange his plums for bays	Y
To Pan alone rich misers call	Z
And there's the jest for Pan is ALL	Z
Here English wits will be to seek	A2
Howe'er 'tis all one in the Greek	A2
Besides it plainly now appears	S
Our Midas too has ass's ears	S
Where every fool his mouth applies	B2
And whispers in a thousand lies	B2
Such gross delusions could not pass	C2
Thro' any ears but of an ass	C2
But gold defiles with frequent touch	D2
There's nothing fouls the hand so much	D2
And scholars give it for the cause	E2
Of British Midas' dirty paws	F2
Which while the senate strove to scour	A
They wash'd away the chemic power	A
While he his utmost strength applied	L
To swim against this popular tide	L
The golden spoils flew off apace	G2
Here fell a pension there a place	G2
The torrent merciless imbibes	G2
Commissions perquisites and bribes	G2
By their own weight sunk to the bottom	H2
Much good may't do 'em that have caught 'em	H2
And Midas now neglected stands	G2
With ass's ears and dirty hands	G2

Jonathan Swift

The Fable Of Midas.[1] Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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