Up At A Villa' Down In The City Poem Rhyme Scheme

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As Distinguished by an Italian Person of Quality	A
	-
I	-
	-
Had I but plenty of money money enough and to spare	B
The house for me no doubt were a house in the city square	B
Ah such a life such a life as one leads at the window there	B
	-
II	-
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Something to see by Bacchus something to hear at least	C
There the whole day long one's life is a perfect feast	C
While up at a villa one lives I maintain it no more than a beast	C
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III	-
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Well now look at our villa stuck like the horn of a bull	D
Just on a mountain's edge as bare as the creature's skull	E
Save a mere shag of a bush with hardly a leaf to pull	D
I scratch my own sometimes to see if the hair's turned wool	D
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IV	-
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But the city oh the city the square with the houses Why	-
They are stone faced white as a curd there's something to take the eye	-
Houses in four straight lines not a single front awry	-
You watch who crosses and gossips who saunters who hurries by	-
Green blinds as a matter of course to draw when the sun gets high	-
And the shops with fanciful signs which are painted properly	A
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V	A
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What of a villa Though winter be over in March by rights	F
'Tis May perhaps ere the snow shall have withered well off the heights	F
You've the brown ploughed land before where the oxen steam and wheeze	G
And the hills over smoked behind by the faint grey olive trees	G
	-
VI	-
	-
Is it better in May I ask you You've summer all at once	H
In a day he leaps complete with a few strong April suns	I
'Mid the sharp short emerald wheat scarce risen three fingers well	J
The wild tulip at end of its tube blows out its great red bell	J
Like a thin clear bubble of blood for the children to pick and sell	J
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VII	-
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Is it ever hot in the square There's a fountain to spout and splash	K
In the shade it sings and springs in the shine such foam bows flash	K
On the horses with curling fish tails that prance and paddle and pash	K
Round the lady atop in her conch fifty gazers do not abash	K
Though all that she wears is some weeds round her waist in a sort of sash	K
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VIII	-
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All the year long at the villa nothing to see though you linger	L
Except yon cypress that points like Death's lean lifted forefinger	L
Some think fireflies pretty when they mix in the corn and mingle	E
Or thrid the stinking hemp till the stalks of it seem a tingle	E
Late August or early September the stunning cicala is shrill	M
And the bees keep their tiresome whine round the resinous firs on the hill	M
Enough of the seasons I spare you the months of the fever and chill	M
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IX	I
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Ere opening your eyes in the city the blessed church bells begin	N
No sooner the bells leave off than the diligence rattles in	N
You get the pick of the news and it costs you never a pin	N
By and by there's the travelling doctor gives pills lets blood draws teeth	O
Or the Pulcinello trumpet breaks up the market beneath	O
At the post office such a scene picture the new play piping hot	P
And a notice how only this morning three liberal thieves were shot	P
Above it behold the Archbishop's most fatherly of rebukes	I
And beneath with his crown and his lion some little new law of the Duke's	I
Or a sonnet with flowery marge to the Reverend Don So and so	I
Who is Dante Boccaccio Petrarca Saint Jerome and Cicero	I
And moreover the sonnet goes rhyming the skirts of Saint Paul has reached	Q
Having preached us those six Lent lectures more unctuous than ever he preached	Q
Noon strikes here sweeps the procession our Lady borne smiling and smart	R
With a pink gauze gown all spangles and seven swords stuck in her heart	R
Bang whang whang goes the drum tootle te tootle the fife	-
No keeping one's haunches still it's the greatest pleasure in life	-
	-
X	I
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But bless you it's dear it's dear fowls wine at double the rate	S
They have clapped a new tax upon salt and what oil pays passing the gate	S
It's a horror to think of And so the villa for me not the city	A
Beggars can scarcely be choosers but still ah the pity the pity	A
Look two and two go the priests then the monks with cowls and sandals	I
And the penitents dressed in white shirts a holding the yellow candles	I
One he carries a flag up straight and another a cross with handles	I
And the Duke's guard brings up the rear for the better prevention of scandals	I
Bang whang whang goes the drum tootle te tootle the fife	-
Oh a day in the city square there is no such pleasure in life	-

Robert Browning

Up At A Villa' Down In The City Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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