A True Tale Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEFFGHII FFJJ KKCCLL MMNNOPQQ BBCCKC CCGGCCCC CCRRFF SSTTCCUUDD CCVVWWXX KKCC YYCCZZA2A2 MM B2B2

A mother who vast Pleasure findsA
In modelling her Childrens MindsA
With whom in exquisite DelightB
She passes many a Winter NightB
Mingles in ev'ry Play to findC
What Byass Nature gave the MindC
Resolving thence to take her AimD
To guide them to the Realms of FameD
And wisely make those Realms their WayE
To Regions of eternal DayE
Each boist'rous Passion to controulF
And early humanize the SoulF
In simple Tales beside the FireG
The noblest Notions would inspireH
Her Children conscious of her CareI
Transported hung around her ChairI
-
Of Scripture Heroes she would tellF
Whose Names they lisp'd ere they could spellF
The Mother then delighted smilesJ
And shews the Story on the TilesJ
-
At other Times her Themes would beK
The Sages of AntiquityK
Who left immortal Names behindC
By proving Blessings to their KindC
Again she takes another ScopeL
And tells of Addison and PopeL
-
Studious to let her Children knowM
The various Turns of Things belowM
How Virtue here was oft oppress'dN
To shine more glorious with the Bless'dN
Told Tully's and the Gracchi's DoomO
The Patriots and the Pride of RomeP
Then bless'd the Drapier's happier FateQ
Who sav'd and lives to guard the StateQ
-
Some Comedies gave great DelightB
And entertain'd them many a NightB
Others could no Admittance findC
Forbid as Poison to the MindC
Those Authors Wit and Sense said sheK
But heighten their ImpietyC
-
This happy Mother met one DayC
The Book of Fables writ by GayC
And told her Children Here's a TreasureG
A Fund of Wisdom and of PleasureG
Such Morals and so finely writC
Such Decency good Sense and WitC
Well has the Poet found the ArtC
To raise the Mind and mend the HeartC
-
Her fav'rite Son the Volume seiz'dC
And as he read seem'd highly pleas'dC
Made such Reflections ev'ry PageR
The Mother thought above his AgeR
Delighted read but scarce was ableF
To finish the concluding FableF
-
What ails my Child the Mother criesS
Whose Sorrows now have fill'd your EyesS
O dear Mamma can he want FriendsT
Who writes for such exalted EndsT
O base degen'rate human KindC
Had I a Fortune to my MindC
Should Gay complain But now alasU
Thro' what a World am I to passU
Where Friendship is an empty NameD
And Merit scarcely paid in FameD
-
Resolv'd to lull his Woes to RestC
She tells him He should hope the bestC
This has been yet Gay's Case I ownV
But now his Merit's amply knownV
Content that tender Heart of thineW
He'll be the Care of CarolineW
Who thus instructs the royal RaceX
Must have a Pension or a PlaceX
-
Mamma if you were Queen says heK
And such a Book were writ for meK
I find 'tis so much to your TasteC
That Gay would keep his Coach at leastC
-
My Son what you suppose is trueY
I see its Excellence in youY
Poets who write to mend the MindC
A royal Recompence should findC
But I am barr'd by Fortune's FrownsZ
From the best Privilege of CrownsZ
The glorious godlike Pow'r to blessA2
And raise up Merit in DistressA2
-
But dear Mamma I long to knowM
Were you the Queen what you'd bestowM
-
What I'd bestow says she my DearB2
At least a thousand Pounds a YearB2

Mary Barber



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