To Dr. Delany, On The Libels Written Against Him Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BC DDBBEEFFBBGGDDBBHHII JJGGBBKKFFEELLMMNNOO BBPPBBBBQRSSTTJJUUBB BBVVWWXXMMYYYYZZBBXX A2A2BBB2B2YYC2C2BBYY BBBBBBBBBBA2A2YYYYD2 D2ZZYYE2E2F2F2YYG2G2 BBH2H2BBGGI2I2E2E2BB YYRYYYLLE2E2YYYYYYJ2 J2K2K2H2H2BBBBBBBBL2 L2YY| A | |
| - | |
| Tanti tibi non sit opaci | B |
| Omnis arena Tagi quodque in mare volvitur aurum Juv iii | C |
| - | |
| As some raw youth in country bred | D |
| To arms by thirst of honour led | D |
| When at a skirmish first he hears | B |
| The bullets whistling round his ears | B |
| Will duck his head aside will start | E |
| And feel a trembling at his heart | E |
| Till 'scaping oft without a wound | F |
| Lessens the terror of the sound | F |
| Fly bullets now as thick as hops | B |
| He runs into a cannon's chops | B |
| An author thus who pants for fame | G |
| Begins the world with fear and shame | G |
| When first in print you see him dread | D |
| Each pop gun levell'd at his head | D |
| The lead yon critic's quill contains | B |
| Is destined to beat out his brains | B |
| As if he heard loud thunders roll | H |
| Cries Lord have mercy on his soul | H |
| Concluding that another shot | I |
| Will strike him dead upon the spot | I |
| But when with squibbing flashing popping | J |
| He cannot see one creature dropping | J |
| That missing fire or missing aim | G |
| His life is safe I mean his fame | G |
| The danger past takes heart of grace | B |
| And looks a critic in the face | B |
| Though splendour gives the fairest mark | K |
| To poison'd arrows in the dark | K |
| Yet in yourself when smooth and round | F |
| They glance aside without a wound | F |
| 'Tis said the gods tried all their art | E |
| How pain they might from pleasure part | E |
| But little could their strength avail | L |
| Both still are fasten'd by the tail | L |
| Thus fame and censure with a tether | M |
| By fate are always link'd together | M |
| Why will you aim to be preferr'd | N |
| In wit before the common herd | N |
| And yet grow mortified and vex'd | O |
| To pay the penalty annex'd | O |
| 'Tis eminence makes envy rise | B |
| As fairest fruits attract the flies | B |
| Should stupid libels grieve your mind | P |
| You soon a remedy may find | P |
| Lie down obscure like other folks | B |
| Below the lash of snarlers' jokes | B |
| Their faction is five hundred odds | B |
| For every coxcomb lends them rods | B |
| And sneers as learnedly as they | Q |
| Like females o'er their morning tea | R |
| You say the Muse will not contain | S |
| And write you must or break a vein | S |
| Then if you find the terms too hard | T |
| No longer my advice regard | T |
| But raise your fancy on the wing | J |
| The Irish senate's praises sing | J |
| How jealous of the nation's freedom | U |
| And for corruptions how they weed 'em | U |
| How each the public good pursues | B |
| How far their hearts from private views | B |
| Make all true patriots up to shoe boys | B |
| Huzza their brethren at the Blue boys | B |
| Thus grown a member of the club | V |
| No longer dread the rage of Grub | V |
| How oft am I for rhyme to seek | W |
| To dress a thought I toil a week | W |
| And then how thankful to the town | X |
| If all my pains will earn a crown | X |
| While every critic can devour | M |
| My work and me in half an hour | M |
| Would men of genius cease to write | Y |
| The rogues must die for want and spite | Y |
| Must die for want of food and raiment | Y |
| If scandal did not find them payment | Y |
| How cheerfully the hawkers cry | Z |
| A satire and the gentry buy | Z |
| While my hard labour'd poem pines | B |
| Unsold upon the printer's lines | B |
| A genius in the reverend gown | X |
| Must ever keep its owner down | X |
| 'Tis an unnatural conjunction | A2 |
| And spoils the credit of the function | A2 |
| Round all your brethren cast your eyes | B |
| Point out the surest men to rise | B |
| That club of candidates in black | B2 |
| The least deserving of the pack | B2 |
| Aspiring factious fierce and loud | Y |
| With grace and learning unendow'd | Y |
| Can turn their hands to every job | C2 |
| The fittest tools to work for Bob | C2 |
| Will sooner coin a thousand lies | B |
| Than suffer men of parts to rise | B |
| They crowd about preferment's gate | Y |
| And press you down with all their weight | Y |
| For as of old mathematicians | B |
| Were by the vulgar thought magicians | B |
| So academic dull ale drinkers | B |
| Pronounce all men of wit free thinkers | B |
| Wit as the chief of virtue's friends | B |
| Disdains to serve ignoble ends | B |
| Observe what loads of stupid rhymes | B |
| Oppress us in corrupted times | B |
| What pamphlets in a court's defence | B |
| Show reason grammar truth or sense | B |
| For though the Muse delights in fiction | A2 |
| She ne'er inspires against conviction | A2 |
| Then keep your virtue still unmixt | Y |
| And let not faction come betwixt | Y |
| By party steps no grandeur climb at | Y |
| Though it would make you England's primate | Y |
| First learn the science to be dull | D2 |
| You then may soon your conscience lull | D2 |
| If not however seated high | Z |
| Your genius in your face will fly | Z |
| When Jove was from his teeming head | Y |
| Of Wit's fair goddess brought to bed | Y |
| There follow'd at his lying in | E2 |
| For after birth a sooterkin | E2 |
| Which as the nurse pursued to kill | F2 |
| Attain'd by flight the Muses' hill | F2 |
| There in the soil began to root | Y |
| And litter'd at Parnassus' foot | Y |
| From hence the critic vermin sprung | G2 |
| With harpy claws and poisonous tongue | G2 |
| Who fatten on poetic scraps | B |
| Too cunning to be caught in traps | B |
| Dame Nature as the learned show | H2 |
| Provides each animal its foe | H2 |
| Hounds hunt the hare the wily fox | B |
| Devours your geese the wolf your flocks | B |
| Thus Envy pleads a natural claim | G |
| To persecute the Muse's fame | G |
| On poets in all times abusive | I2 |
| From Homer down to Pope inclusive | I2 |
| Yet what avails it to complain | E2 |
| You try to take revenge in vain | E2 |
| A rat your utmost rage defies | B |
| That safe behind the wainscot lies | B |
| Say did you ever know by sight | Y |
| In cheese an individual mite | Y |
| Show me the same numeric flea | R |
| That bit your neck but yesterday | Y |
| You then may boldly go in quest | Y |
| To find the Grub Street poet's nest | Y |
| What spunging house in dread of jail | L |
| Receives them while they wait for bail | L |
| What alley are they nestled in | E2 |
| To flourish o'er a cup of gin | E2 |
| Find the last garret where they lay | Y |
| Or cellar where they starve to day | Y |
| Suppose you have them all trepann'd | Y |
| With each a libel in his hand | Y |
| What punishment would you inflict | Y |
| Or call them rogues or get them kickt | Y |
| These they have often tried before | J2 |
| You but oblige them so much more | J2 |
| Themselves would be the first to tell | K2 |
| To make their trash the better sell | K2 |
| You have been libell'd Let us know | H2 |
| What fool officious told you so | H2 |
| Will you regard the hawker's cries | B |
| Who in his titles always lies | B |
| Whate'er the noisy scoundrel says | B |
| It might be something in your praise | B |
| And praise bestow'd in Grub Street rhymes | B |
| Would vex one more a thousand times | B |
| Till critics blame and judges praise | B |
| The poet cannot claim his bays | B |
| On me when dunces are satiric | L2 |
| I take it for a panegyric | L2 |
| Hated by fools and fools to hate | Y |
| Be that my motto and my fate | Y |
Jonathan Swift
(1)
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