1827; Or, The Poet's Last Poem Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCCCDDDDEEFFGGHI JJDD KKDDLLMMNNDDDDGGDD OOPPQRSSTTDDDDDDGGGG DDUU VVDDLLWWDDDDKKLLXXDD DD GGRRGGYYDDZZDDUM LLGGCCPPDDDDA2B2C2C2 CC CCLLDDDDD2D2MMDDB2B2 DDB2B2PP E2CB2B2DDLLB2B2MMF2F 2DD DDB2B2B2B2DDGGG2G2Ye Bards in all your thousand dens | A |
Great souls with fewer pence than pens | A |
Sublime adorers of Apollo | B |
With folios full and purses hollow | B |
Whose very souls with rapture glisten | C |
When you can find a fool to listen | C |
Who if a debt were paid by pun | C |
Would never be completely done | C |
Ye bright inhabitants of garrets | D |
Whose dreams are rich in ports and clarets | D |
Who in your lofty paradise | D |
See aldermanic banquets rise | D |
And though the duns around you troop | E |
Still float in seas of turtle soup | E |
I here forsake the tuneful trade | F |
Where none but lordlings now are paid | F |
Or where some northern rogue sits puling | G |
The curse of universal schooling | G |
A ploughman to his country lost | H |
An author to his printer's cost | I |
A slave to every man who'll buy him | J |
A knave to every man who'll try him | J |
Yet let him take the pen at once | D |
The laurel gathers round his sconce | D |
- | |
On every subject superseded | K |
My favorite topics all invaded | K |
I scarcely dip my pen in praise | D |
When fifty bardlings grasp my bays | D |
Or let me touch a drop of satire | L |
I once knew something of the matter | L |
Just fifty bardlings take the trouble | M |
To be my tuneful worship's double | M |
Fine similies that nothing fit | N |
Joe Miller's that must pass for wit | N |
The dull dry brain besieging jokes | D |
The humour that no laugh provokes | D |
The nameless worthless witless rancours | D |
The rage that souls of scribblers cankers | D |
Administer'd in gall go thick | G |
It makes even Sunday critic's sick | G |
Disgust my passion fill my place | D |
And snatch my prize before my face | D |
- | |
If then I take the brilliant pen | O |
And scorning measures talk of men | O |
There Luttrel steps 'twixt me and fame | P |
So like egad we're just the same | P |
I never half squeeze out a thought | Q |
But jumps its fellow on the spot | R |
My tenderest dreams my fondest touch | S |
Are victims to his ready clutch | S |
The whirling waltz the gay costume | T |
The porcelain tooth the gallic bloom | T |
The vapid smiles the lisping loves | D |
Of turtles never meant for doves | D |
The dreary stuff that fills the ears | D |
Where all the orators are peers | D |
The hides reveal'd through ball room dresses | D |
Where all the parties are peer esses | D |
The dulness of the toujours gai | G |
The yawning night the sleepy day | G |
The visages of cheese and chalk | G |
The drowsy dreamy languid talk | G |
The fifty other horrid things | D |
That strip old Time of both his wings | D |
There's not a topic of them all | U |
But comes hey presto at his call | U |
- | |
Or when I turn my pen to love | V |
A theme that fits me like my glove | V |
A pang I've borne these twenty years | D |
With ten times twenty several dears | D |
Each glance a dart each smile a quiver | L |
Stinging their bard from lungs to liver | L |
To work my ruin or my cure | W |
Up starts thy pen Anacreon Moore | W |
In vain I pour my shower of roses | D |
On which the matchless fair one dozes | D |
And plant around her conch the graces | D |
While jealous Venus breaks her laces | D |
To see a younger face promoted | K |
To see her own old face out voted | K |
And myrtle branches twisting o'er her | L |
Bow down each turn'd a true adorer | L |
Up starts the Irish Bard in vain | X |
I write 'tis all against the grain | X |
In vain I talk of smiles or sighs | D |
The girls all have him in their eyes | D |
And not a soul mamma or miss | D |
But vows he's the sole Bard of Bliss | D |
- | |
Since first I dipp'd in the romantic | G |
A hundred thousand have run frantic | G |
There's not a hideous highland spot | R |
Long fallowed to the core by Scott | R |
No rill through rack and thistle dribbling | G |
But has its deadlier crop of scribbling | G |
Each fen and flat and flood and fell | Y |
Gives birth to verses by the ell | Y |
There Wordsworth for his muse's sallies | D |
Claims all the ponds the lanes and alleys | D |
There Coleridge swears none else shall tune | Z |
A bag pipe to the list'ning moon | Z |
On come in clouds the scribbling columns | D |
Each prowling for his next three volumes | D |
I scorn the rascal tribe and spurn all | U |
The yearly monthly and diurnal | M |
- | |
I write the finest things that ever | L |
Made duchess fond or marquiss clever | L |
Although I'd rather half turn Turk | G |
The thing's such monstrous up hill work | G |
My ton's the very cream of fashion | C |
My passion the sublimest passion | C |
My rage satanic love the same | P |
Of all blue flames the bluest flame | P |
My piety perpetual matins | D |
A quaker propp'd on double pattens | D |
My lovely girls the most precocious | D |
My beaus delightfully atrocious | D |
Yet scarcely have I play'd my card | A2 |
When up comes politician Ward | B2 |
Before my face he trumps my trump | C2 |
Sweeps off my honours in the lump | C2 |
And never asking my permission | C |
Talks sermons to the third edition | C |
- | |
Or Boulogne Highway Byeway Grattan | C |
The Pyrenees begin to flatten | C |
A feast denied to storm and shower | L |
The pen's the wonder working power | L |
Or Smith the master of Addresses | D |
Carves history out in modern messes | D |
Tells how gay Charles cook'd up his collops | D |
How fleeced his friends how paid his trollops | D |
How pledged his soul and pawn'd his oath | D2 |
'Till none would give a straw for both | D2 |
And touching paupers for the Evil | M |
Touch'd England half way to the devil | M |
Or Hook picks up my favorite hits | D |
For when was friendship between wits | D |
Or Lyster doubly dandyfied | B2 |
Fidgets his donkey by my side | B2 |
Or Bulwer rambles back from Greece | D |
Woolgathering from the Golden fleece | D |
Or forty volumes piping hot | B2 |
Come blazing from volcano Scott | B2 |
When pens like their's play all my game | P |
The tasteless world must bear the blame | P |
- | |
I had a budget full of fan | E2 |
But here again I'm lost undone | C |
I'm so forestall'd that faith I could | B2 |
Half quarrel with my lively Hood | B2 |
For odd it is my Oddities | D |
Are even all the same with his | D |
Would Sherwood him of Paternoster | L |
Assist my pilferings to foster | L |
I'd turn free booter nay I would | B2 |
E'en play the part of robbing Hood | B2 |
But brother Wits should never quarrel | M |
Nor try to pluck each other's laurel | M |
And tho' my income's scarce enough | F2 |
To find friend Petersham with snuff | F2 |
Here's peace to all and kind regards | D |
And Brother Hood among the Bards | D |
- | |
So all friends countrymen and lovers | D |
With one or one and twenty covers | D |
Farewell to all my glories past | B2 |
I pen my lay my sweetest last | B2 |
Another Phoenix build my nest | B2 |
Of spices Phoebus' very best | B2 |
Concentrating in these gay pages | D |
Wit worth the wit of all the stages | D |
Love tender as the midnight talk | G |
In softest summer's midnight walk | G |
With leave to all earth's fools to spurn 'em | G2 |
Nay if they first will buy to burn 'em | G2 |
Thomas Gent
(1)
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