1827; Or, The Poet's Last Poem Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Ye 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On every subject superseded	K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

1827; Or, The Poet's Last Poem Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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