Poet Jonathan Swift

Jonathan Swift

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The Lady's Dressing Room Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABBCCDDEFGGGGGGHIJJG GKKGGLLGGMMGGLLLLLLL LLLGGLLGGLLANGGOOLLG GLLPPGGGGQQGGGGLLNNR RLLSSGGGGGGMMTTMMGGQ QLLUUVVGGWWXXDDLLAAL LHHLLGGGGLLTTLLLLGGG GYY

By haughty Celia spent in dressingA
The goddess from her chamber issuesB
Arrayed in lace brocades and tissuesB
Strephon who found the room was voidC
And Betty otherwise employedC
Stole in and took a strict surveyD
Of all the litter as it layD
Whereof to make the matter clearE
An inventory follows hereF
And first a dirty smock appearedG
Beneath the arm pits well besmearedG
Strephon the rogue displayed it wideG
And turned it round on every sideG
On such a point few words are bestG
And Strephon bids us guess the restG
And swears how damnably the men lieH
In calling Celia sweet and cleanlyI
Now listen while he next producesJ
The various combs for various usesJ
Filled up with dirt so closely fixtG
No brush could force a way betwixtG
A paste of composition rareK
Sweat dandruff powder lead and hairK
A forehead cloth with oil upon'tG
To smooth the wrinkles on her frontG
Here alum flower to stop the steamsL
Exhaled from sour unsavory streamsL
There night gloves made of Tripsy's hideG
Bequeath'd by Tripsy when she diedG
With puppy water beauty's helpM
Distilled from Tripsy's darling whelpM
Here gallypots and vials placedG
Some filled with washes some with pasteG
Some with pomatum paints and slopsL
And ointments good for scabby chopsL
Hard by a filthy basin standsL
Fouled with the scouring of her handsL
The basin takes whatever comesL
The scrapings of her teeth and gumsL
A nasty compound of all huesL
For here she spits and here she spewsL
But oh it turned poor Strephon's bowelsL
When he beheld and smelt the towelsL
Begummed besmattered and beslimedG
With dirt and sweat and ear wax grimedG
No object Strephon's eye escapesL
Here petticoats in frowzy heapsL
Nor be the handkerchiefs forgotG
All varnished o'er with snuff and snotG
The stockings why should I exposeL
Stained with the marks of stinking toesL
Or greasy coifs and pinners reekingA
Which Celia slept at least a week inN
A pair of tweezers next he foundG
To pluck her brows in arches roundG
Or hairs that sink the forehead lowO
Or on her chin like bristles growO
The virtues we must not let passL
Of Celia's magnifying glassL
When frighted Strephon cast his eye on'tG
It shewed the visage of a giantG
A glass that can to sight discloseL
The smallest worm in Celia's noseL
And faithfully direct her nailP
To squeeze it out from head to tailP
For catch it nicely by the headG
It must come out alive or deadG
Why Strephon will you tell the restG
And must you needs describe the chestG
That careless wench no creature warn herQ
To move it out from yonder cornerQ
But leave it standing full in sightG
For you to exercise your spiteG
In vain the workman shewed his witG
With rings and hinges counterfeitG
To make it seem in this disguiseL
A cabinet to vulgar eyesL
For Strephon ventured to look inN
Resolved to go through thick and thinN
He lifts the lid there needs no moreR
He smelt it all the time beforeR
As from within Pandora's boxL
When Epimetheus oped the locksL
A sudden universal crewS
Of humane evils upwards flewS
He still was comforted to findG
That Hope at last remained behindG
So Strephon lifting up the lidG
To view what in the chest was hidG
The vapours flew from out the ventG
But Strephon cautious never meantG
The bottom of the pan to gropeM
And foul his hands in search of HopeM
O never may such vile machineT
Be once in Celia's chamber seenT
O may she better learn to keepM
'Those secrets of the hoary deep'M
As mutton cutlets prime of meatG
Which though with art you salt and beatG
As laws of cookery requireQ
And toast them at the clearest fireQ
If from adown the hopeful chopsL
The fat upon the cinder dropsL
To stinking smoke it turns the flameU
Poisoning the flesh from whence it cameU
And up exhales a greasy stenchV
For which you curse the careless wenchV
So things which must not be exprestG
When plumpt into the reeking chestG
Send up an excremental smellW
To taint the parts from whence they fellW
The petticoats and gown perfumeX
Which waft a stink round every roomX
Thus finishing his grand surveyD
Disgusted Strephon stole awayD
Repeating in his amorous fitsL
Oh Celia Celia Celia shitsL
But vengeance Goddess never sleepingA
Soon punished Strephon for his peepingA
His foul Imagination linksL
Each dame he see with all her stinksL
And if unsavory odors flyH
Conceives a lady standing byH
All women his description fitsL
And both ideas jump like witsL
By vicious fancy coupled fastG
And still appearing in contrastG
I pity wretched Strephon blindG
To all the charms of female kindG
Should I the Queen of Love refuseL
Because she rose from stinking oozeL
To him that looks behind the sceneT
Satira's but some pocky queenT
When Celia in her glory showsL
If Strephon would but stop his noseL
Who now so impiously blasphemesL
Her ointments daubs and paints and creamsL
Her washes slops and every cloutG
With which he makes so foul a routG
He soon would learn to think like meG
And bless his ravished sight to seeG
Such order from confusion sprungY
Such gaudy tulips raised from dungY

Jonathan Swift



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