Retaliation Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHAAII AA JJAAKK LLAAAAMMAAAADD AANNOOPQ AARRSSTTEU VVDDWWAAAAQQAAXXYY ZZZZQQDDA2A2DDB2B2 C2C2WWAAAAMMD2D2TTE2 E2F2F2ZZAAG2G2AAZZH2 H2I2I2 DDDDDDAAJ2J2AA AAAAAAMMK2K2 A A C2C2 PPDDH2H2AA AADDAA ZZKL2WWZZ AAZOf old when Scarron his companions invited | A |
Each guest brought his dish and the feast was united | A |
If our landlord supplies us with beef and with fish | B |
Let each guest bring himself and he brings the best dish | B |
Our Dean shall be venison just fresh from the plains | C |
Our Burke shall be tongue with a garnish of brains | C |
Our Will shall be wild fowl of excellent flavour | D |
And Dick with his pepper shall heighten their savour | D |
Our Cumberland's sweet bread its place shall obtain | E |
And Douglas is pudding substantial and plain | E |
Our Garrick's a salad for in him we see | F |
Oil vinegar sugar and saltness agree | F |
To make out the dinner full certain I am | G |
That Ridge is anchovy and Reynolds is lamb | G |
That Hickey's a capon and by the same rule | H |
Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool | H |
At a dinner so various at such a repast | A |
Who'd not be a glutton and stick to the last | A |
Here waiter more wine let me sit while I'm able | I |
Till all my companions sink under the table | I |
Then with chaos and blunders encircling my head | A |
Let me ponder and tell what I think of the dead | A |
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Here lies the good Dean re united to earth | J |
Who mix'd reason with pleasure and wisdom with mirth | J |
If he had any faults he has left us in doubt | A |
At least in six weeks I could not find 'em out | A |
Yet some have declar'd and it can't be denied 'em | K |
That sly boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em | K |
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Here lies our good Edmund whose genius was such | L |
We scarcely can praise it or blame it too much | L |
Who born for the Universe narrow'd his mind | A |
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind | A |
Though fraught with all learning yet straining his throat | A |
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote | A |
Who too deep for his hearers still went on refining | M |
And thought of convincing while they thought of dining | M |
Though equal to all things for all things unfit | A |
Too nice for a statesman too proud for a wit | A |
For a patriot too cool for a drudge disobedient | A |
And too fond of the 'right' to pursue the 'expedient' | A |
In short 'twas his fate unemploy'd or in place Sir | D |
To eat mutton cold and cut blocks with a razor | D |
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Here lies honest William whose heart was a mint | A |
While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in't | A |
The pupil of impulse it forc'd him along | N |
His conduct still right with his argument wrong | N |
Still aiming at honour yet fearing to roam | O |
The coachman was tipsy the chariot drove home | O |
Would you ask for his merits alas he had none | P |
What was good was spontaneous his faults were his own | Q |
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Here lies honest Richard whose fate I must sigh at | A |
Alas that such frolic should now be so quiet | A |
What spirits were his what wit and what whim | R |
Now breaking a jest and now breaking a limb | R |
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball | S |
Now teasing and vexing yet laughing at all | S |
In short so provoking a devil was Dick | T |
That we wish'd him full ten times a day at Old Nick | T |
But missing his mirth and agreeable vein | E |
As often we wish'd to have Dick back again | U |
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Here Cumberland lies having acted his parts | V |
The Terence of England the mender of hearts | V |
A flattering painter who made it his care | D |
To draw men as they ought to be not as they are | D |
His gallants are all faultless his women divine | W |
And comedy wonders at being so fine | W |
Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out | A |
Or rather like tragedy giving a rout | A |
His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd | A |
Of virtues and feelings that folly grows proud | A |
And coxcombs alike in their failings alone | Q |
Adopting his portraits are pleas'd with their own | Q |
Say where has our poet this malady caught | A |
Or wherefore his characters thus without fault | A |
Say was it that vainly directing his view | X |
To find out men's virtues and finding them few | X |
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf | Y |
He grew lazy at last and drew from himself | Y |
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Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax | Z |
The scourge of impostors the terror of quacks | Z |
Come all ye quack bards and ye quacking divines | Z |
Come and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines | Z |
When Satire and Censure encircl'd his throne | Q |
I fear'd for your safety I fear'd for my own | Q |
But now he is gone and we want a detector | D |
Our Dodds shall be pious our Kenricks shall lecture | D |
Macpherson write bombast and call it a style | A2 |
Our Townshend make speeches and I shall compile | A2 |
New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross over | D |
No countryman living their tricks to discover | D |
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark | B2 |
And Scotchman meet Scotchman and cheat in the dark | B2 |
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Here lies David Garrick describe me who can | C2 |
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man | C2 |
As an actor confess'd without rival to shine | W |
As a wit if not first in the very first line | W |
Yet with talents like these and an excellent heart | A |
The man had his failings a dupe to his art | A |
Like an ill judging beauty his colours he spread | A |
And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red | A |
On the stage he was natural simple affecting | M |
'Twas only that when he was off he was acting | M |
With no reason on earth to go out of his way | D2 |
He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day | D2 |
Though secure of our hearts yet confoundedly sick | T |
If they were not his own by finessing and trick | T |
He cast off his friends as a huntsman his pack | E2 |
For he knew when he pleas'd he could whistle them back | E2 |
Of praise a mere glutton he swallow'd what came | F2 |
And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame | F2 |
Till his relish grown callous almost to disease | Z |
Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please | Z |
But let us be candid and speak out our mind | A |
If dunces applauded he paid them in kind | A |
Ye Kenricks ye Kellys and Woodfalls so grave | G2 |
What a commerce was yours while you got and you gave | G2 |
How did Grub street re echo the shouts you rais'd | A |
While he was be Roscius'd and you were be prais'd | A |
But peace to his spirit wherever it flies | Z |
To act as an angel and mix with the skies | Z |
Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill | H2 |
Shall still be his flatterers go where he will | H2 |
Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love | I2 |
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above | I2 |
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Here Hickey reclines a most blunt pleasant creature | D |
And slander itself must allow him good nature | D |
He cherish'd his friend and he relish'd a bumper | D |
Yet one fault he had and that one was a thumper | D |
Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser | D |
I answer no no for he always was wiser | D |
Too courteous perhaps or obligingly flat | A |
His very worst foe can't accuse him of that | A |
Perhaps he confided in men as they go | J2 |
And so was too foolishly honest Ah no | J2 |
Then what was his failing come tell it and burn ye | A |
He was could he help it a special attorney | A |
- | |
Here Reynolds is laid and to tell you my mind | A |
He has not left a better or wiser behind | A |
His pencil was striking resistless and grand | A |
His manners were gentle complying and bland | A |
Still born to improve us in every part | A |
His pencil our faces his manners our heart | A |
To coxcombs averse yet most civilly steering | M |
When they judg'd without skill he was still hard of hearing | M |
When they talk'd of their Raphaels Correggios and stuff | K2 |
He shifted his trumpet and only took snuff | K2 |
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POSTSCRIPT | A |
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After the Fourth Edition of this Poem was printed the Publisher received an Epitaph on Mr Whitefoord from a friend of the late Doctor Goldsmith inclosed in a letter of which the following is an abstract | A |
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'I have in my possession a sheet of paper containing near forty lines in the Doctor's own hand writing there are many scattered broken verses on Sir Jos Reynolds Counsellor Ridge Mr Beauclerk and Mr Whitefoord The Epitaph on the last mentioned gentleman is the only one that is finished and therefore I have copied it that you may add it to the next edition It is a striking proof of Doctor Goldsmith's good nature I saw this sheet of paper in the Doctor's room five or six days before he died and as I had got all the other Epitaphs I asked him if I might take it In truth you may my Boy replied he for it will be of no use to me where I am going ' | - |
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Here Whitefoord reclines and deny it who can | C2 |
Though he 'merrily' liv'd he is now a 'grave' man | C2 |
- | |
Rare compound of oddity frolic and fun | P |
Who relish'd a joke and rejoic'd in a pun | P |
Whose temper was generous open sincere | D |
A stranger to flatt'ry a stranger to fear | D |
Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will | H2 |
Whose daily 'bons mots' half a column might fill | H2 |
A Scotchman from pride and from prejudice free | A |
A scholar yet surely no pedant was he | A |
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What pity alas that so lib'ral a mind | A |
Should so long be to news paper essays confin'd | A |
Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar | D |
Yet content 'if the table he set on a roar' | D |
Whose talents to fill any station were fit | A |
Yet happy if Woodfall confess'd him a wit | A |
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Ye news paper witlings ye pert scribbling folks | Z |
Who copied his squibs and re echoed his jokes | Z |
Ye tame imitators ye servile herd come | K |
Still follow your master and visit his tomb | L2 |
To deck it bring with you festoons of the vine | W |
And copious libations bestow on his shrine | W |
Then strew all around it you can do no less | Z |
'Cross readings Ship news' and 'Mistakes of the Press' | Z |
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Merry Whitefoord farewell for 'thy' sake I admit | A |
That a Scot may have humour I had almost said wit | A |
This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuse | Z |
'Thou best humour'd man with the worst humour'd muse ' | - |
Oliver Goldsmith
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