Written For My Son ... At His First Putting On Breeches Poem Rhyme Scheme

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WHAT is it our mamma's bewitches	A
To plague us little boys with breeches	A
To tyrant Custom we must yield	B
Whilst vanquish'd Reason flies the field	B
Our legs must suffer by ligation	C
To keep the blood from circulation	C
And then our feet tho' young and tender	D
We to the shoemaker's surrender	D
Who often makes our shoes so strait	E
Our growing feet they cramp and fret	F
Whilst with contrivance most profound	G
Across our insteps we are bound	G
Which is the cause I make no doubt	H
Why thousands suffer in the gout	H
Our wiser ancestors wore brogues	A
Before the surgeons brib'd these rogues	A
With narrow toes and heels like pegs	A
	-
To help to make us break our legs	A
Then ere we know to use our fists	A
Our mothers closely bind our wrists	A
And never think our cloaths are neat	I
Till they're so tight we cannot eat	I
And to increase our other pains	A
The hatband helps to cramp our brains	A
The cravat finishes the work	J
Like bowstring sent from the Grand Turk	J
Thus dress that should prolong our date	E
Is made to hasten on our fate	E
Fair privilege of nobler natures	A
To be more plagu'd than other creatures	A
The wild inhabitants of air	K
Are cloath'd by heav'n with wondrous care	K
Their beauteous well compacted feathers	A
Are coats of mail against all weathers	A
Enamell'd to delight the eye	L
Gay as the bow that decks the sky	L
The beasts are cloath'd with beauteous skins	A
The fishes arm'd with scales and fins	A
Whose lustre lends the sailor light	M
When all the stars are hid in night	M
	-
O were our dress contriv'd like these	A
For use for ornament and ease	A
Man only seems to sorrow born	N
Naked defenceless and forlorn	N
	-
Yet we have Reason to supply	L
What nature did to man deny	L
Weak Viceroy Who thy pow'r will own	O
When Custom has usurp'd thy throne	O
In vain did I appeal to thee	P
Ere I would wear his livery	P
Who in defiance of thy rules	A
Delights to make us act like fools	A
O'er human race the tyrant reigns	A
And binds them in eternal chains	A
We yield to his despotic sway	Q
The only monarch all obey	Q

Mary Barber

Written For My Son ... At His First Putting On Breeches Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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