Verses Sent To The Dean On His Birth-day, With Pine's Horace, Finely Bound. By Dr. J. Sican[1] Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BBCDEEFFGGGGHHIIJJII FFIIKLMMNNIIOOPPQQOO IIRRSSIITTIIIIUVWWRR XXIIFF| Horace speaking | A |
| - | |
| You've read sir in poetic strain | B |
| How Varus and the Mantuan swain | B |
| Have on my birth day been invited | C |
| But I was forced in verse to write it | D |
| Upon a plain repast to dine | E |
| And taste my old Campanian wine | E |
| But I who all punctilios hate | F |
| Though long familiar with the great | F |
| Nor glory in my reputation | G |
| Am come without an invitation | G |
| And though I'm used to right Falernian | G |
| I'll deign for once to taste I rnian | G |
| But fearing that you might dispute | H |
| Had I put on my common suit | H |
| My breeding and my politesse | I |
| I visit in my birth day dress | I |
| My coat of purest Turkey red | J |
| With gold embroidery richly spread | J |
| To which I've sure as good pretensions | I |
| As Irish lords who starve on pensions | I |
| What though proud ministers of state | F |
| Did at your antichamber wait | F |
| What though your Oxfords and your St Johns | I |
| Have at your levee paid attendance | I |
| And Peterborough and great Ormond | K |
| With many chiefs who now are dormant | L |
| Have laid aside the general's staff | M |
| And public cares with you to laugh | M |
| Yet I some friends as good can name | N |
| Nor less the darling sons of fame | N |
| For sure my Pollio and M cenas | I |
| Were as good statesmen Mr Dean as | I |
| Either your Bolingbroke or Harley | O |
| Though they made Lewis beg a parley | O |
| And as for Mordaunt your loved hero | P |
| I'll match him with my Drusus Nero | P |
| You'll boast perhaps your favourite Pope | Q |
| But Virgil is as good I hope | Q |
| I own indeed I can't get any | O |
| To equal Helsham and Delany | O |
| Since Athens brought forth Socrates | I |
| A Grecian isle Hippocrates | I |
| Since Tully lived before my time | R |
| And Galen bless'd another clime | R |
| You'll plead perhaps at my request | S |
| To be admitted as a guest | S |
| Your hearing's bad But why such fears | I |
| I speak to eyes and not to ears | I |
| And for that reason wisely took | T |
| The form you see me in a book | T |
| Attack'd by slow devouring moths | I |
| By rage of barbarous Huns and Goths | I |
| By Bentley's notes my deadliest foes | I |
| By Creech's rhymes and Dunster's prose | I |
| I found my boasted wit and fire | U |
| In their rude hands almost expire | V |
| Yet still they but in vain assail'd | W |
| For had their violence prevail'd | W |
| And in a blast destroy'd my frame | R |
| They would have partly miss'd their aim | R |
| Since all my spirit in thy page | X |
| Defies the Vandals of this age | X |
| 'Tis yours to save these small remains | I |
| From future pedant's muddy brains | I |
| And fix my long uncertain fate | F |
| You best know how which way TRANSLATE | F |
Jonathan Swift
(1)
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About Verses Sent To The Dean On His Birth-day, With Pine's Horace, Finely Bound. By Dr. J. Sican[1]
Verses Sent To The Dean On His Birth-day, With Pine's Horace, Finely Bound. By Dr. J. Sican[1] is a poem by Jonathan Swift. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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