The Reasons That Induced Dr S To Write A Poem Call'd The Lady's Dressing Room Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEFFFFGGFFGG HHGGIIEJIIIIKKLMEEMM IIKKNKMMJJOOFFPPKKFF QQIIIRRIIIIGGSSFFRRI FFITUVVWXYYYYGGZZ| The Doctor in a clean starch'd band | A |
| His Golden Snuff box in his hand | A |
| With care his Di'mond Ring displays | B |
| And Artfull shews its various Rays | B |
| While Grave he stalks down Street | C |
| His dearest Betty to meet | C |
| Long had he waited for this Hour | D |
| Nor gain'd Admittance to the Bower | D |
| Had jok'd and punn'd and swore and writ | E |
| Try'd all his Galantry and Wit | E |
| Had told her oft what part he bore | F |
| In Oxford's Schemes in days of yore | F |
| But Bawdy Politicks nor Satyr | F |
| Could move this dull hard hearted Creature | F |
| Jenny her Maid could taste a Rhyme | G |
| And greiv'd to see him lose his Time | G |
| Had kindly whisper'd in his Ear | F |
| For twice two pound you enter here | F |
| My lady vows without that Summ | G |
| It is in vain you write or come | G |
| The Destin'd Offering now he brought | H |
| And in a paradise of thought | H |
| With a low Bow approach'd the Dame | G |
| Who smileing heard him preach his Flame | G |
| His Gold she takes such proofes as these | I |
| Convince most unbeleiving shees | I |
| And in her trunk rose up to lock it | E |
| Too wise to trust it in her pocket | J |
| And then return'd with Blushing Grace | I |
| Expects the Doctor's warm Embrace | I |
| But now this is the proper place | I |
| Where morals Stare me in the Face | I |
| And for the sake of fine Expression | K |
| I'm forc'd to make a small digression | K |
| Alas for wretched Humankind | L |
| With Learning Mad with wisdom blink | M |
| The Ox thinks he's for Saddle fit | E |
| As long ago Freind Horace writ | E |
| And Men their Talents still mistakeing | M |
| The stutterer fancys his is speaking | M |
| With Admiration oft we see | I |
| Hard Features heighten'd by Toup e | I |
| The Beau affects the Politician | K |
| Wit is the citizen's Ambition | K |
| Poor Pope Philosophy displays on | N |
| With so much Rhime and little reason | K |
| And th he argues ne'er so long | M |
| That all is right his Head is wrong | M |
| None strive to know their proper merit | J |
| But strain for Wisdom Beauty Spirit | J |
| And lose the Praise that is their due | O |
| While they've th'impossible in view | O |
| So have I seen the Injudicious Heir | F |
| To add one Window the whole House impair | F |
| Instinct the Hound does better teach | P |
| Who never undertook to preach | P |
| The frighted Hare from Dogs does run | K |
| But not attempts to bear a Gun | K |
| Here many Noble thoughts occur | F |
| But I prolixity abhor | F |
| And will persue th'instructive Tale | Q |
| To shew the Wise in some things fail | Q |
| The Reverend Lover with surprize | I |
| Peeps in her Bubbys and her Eyes | I |
| And kisses both and trys and trys | I |
| The Evening in this Hellish Play | R |
| Beside his Guineas thrown away | R |
| Provok'd the Preist to that degree | I |
| he swore the Fault is not in me | I |
| Your damn'd Close stool so near my Nose | I |
| Your Dirty Smock and Stinking Toes | I |
| Would make a Hercules as tame | G |
| As any Beau that you can name | G |
| The nymph grown Furious roar'd by God | S |
| The blame lyes all in Sixty odd | S |
| And scornfull pointing to the door | F |
| Cry'd Fumbler see my Face no more | F |
| With all my Heart I'll go away | R |
| But nothing done I'll nothing pay | R |
| Give back the Money How cry'd she | I |
| I lock'd it in the Trunk stands there | F |
| And break it open if you dare | F |
| Would you palm such a cheat on me | I |
| For poor pound to roar and bellow | T |
| Why sure you want some new Prunella | U |
| What if your Verses have not sold | V |
| Must therefore I return your Gold | V |
| Perhaps your have no better Luck in | W |
| The Knack of Rhyming than of | X |
| I won't give back one single Crown | Y |
| To wash your Band or turn your Gown | Y |
| I'll be reveng'd you saucy Quean | Y |
| Replys the disapointed Dean | Y |
| I'll so describe your dressing room | G |
| The very Irish shall not come | G |
| She answer'd short I'm glad you'l write | Z |
| You'l furnish paper when I shite | Z |
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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About The Reasons That Induced Dr S To Write A Poem Call'd The Lady's Dressing Room
The Reasons That Induced Dr S To Write A Poem Call'd The Lady's Dressing Room is a poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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