A Fly About A Glasse Of Burnt Claret. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AAABC ADEFG AHHHH IJJGG IHHKK ILLMN IHHOO IPPQQ OHHRR OIIOO OIISS OIIOO OTTUU IIIHH

IA
Forbear this liquid fire FlyA
It is more fatal then the dryA
That singly but embracing woundsB
And this at once both burns and drownsC
-
IIA
The salamander that in heatD
And flames doth cool his monstrous sweatE
Whose fan a glowing cake is saidF
Of this red furnace is afraidG
-
IIIA
Viewing the ruby christal shineH
Thou tak'st it for heaven christallineH
Anon thou wilt be taught to groanH
'Tis an ascended AcheronH
-
IVI
A snow ball heart in it let fallJ
And take it out a fire ballJ
Ali icy breast in it betray'dG
Breaks a destructive wild granadeG
-
VI
'Tis this makes Venus altars shineH
This kindles frosty Hymen's pineH
When the boy grows old in his desiresK
This flambeau doth new light his firesK
-
VII
Though the cold hermit over wailL
Whose sighs do freeze and tears drop hailL
Once having pass'd this will ne'rM
Another flaming purging fearN
-
VIII
The vestal drinking this doth burnH
Now more than in her fun'ral urnH
Her fires that with the sun kept raceO
Are now extinguish'd by her faceO
-
VIIII
The chymist that himself doth stillP
Let him but tast this limbecks billP
And prove this sublimated bowlQ
He'll swear it will calcine a soulQ
-
IXO
Noble and brave now thou dost knowH
The false prepared decks belowH
Dost thou the fatal liquor supR
One drop alas thy barque blowes upR
-
XO
What airy country hast to saveI
Whose plagues thou'lt bury in thy graveI
For even now thou seem'st to usO
On this gulphs brink a CurtiusO
-
XIO
And now th' art faln magnanimous FlyI
In where thine Ocean doth fryI
Like the Sun's son who blush'd the floodS
To a complexion of bloodS
-
XIIO
Yet see my glad auricularI
Redeems thee though dissolv'd a starI
Flaggy thy wings and scorch'd thy thighsO
Thou ly'st a double sacrificeO
-
XIIIO
And now my warming cooling breathT
Shall a new life afford in deathT
See in the hospital of my handU
Already cur'd thou fierce do'st standU
-
XIVI
Burnt insect dost thou reaspireI
The moist hot glasse and liquid fireI
I see 'tis such a pleasing painH
Thou would'st be scorch'd and drown'd againH

Richard Lovelace



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