Hit Or Miss Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Thomas Hood

Hit Or Miss Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame	A
Forgather'd ance upon a time BURNS	B
	-
	-
One morn it was the very morn	C
September's sportive month was born	C
The hour about the sunrise early	D
The sky gray sober still and pearly	D
With sundry orange streaks and tinges	B
Through daylight's door at cracks and hinges	B
The air calm bracing freshly cool	E
As if just skimm'd from off a pool	E
The scene red russet yellow laden	F
From stubble fern and leaves that deaden	F
Save here and there a turnip patch	G
Too verdant with the rest to match	G
And far a field a hazy figure	H
Some roaming lover of the trigger	H
Meanwhile the level light perchance	B
Pick'd out his barrel with a glance	B
For all around a distant popping	I
Told birds were flying off or dropping	I
Such was the morn a morn right fair	J
To seek for covey or for hare	J
When lo too far from human feet	K
For even Ranger's boldest beat	K
A Dog as in some doggish trouble	L
Came cant'ring through the crispy stubble	L
With dappled head in lowly droop	M
But not the scientific stoop	M
And flagging dull desponding ears	B
As if they had been soak'd in tears	B
And not the beaded dew that hung	N
The filmy stalks and weeds among	N
	-
His pace indeed seem'd not to know	O
An errand why or where to go	O
To trot to walk or scamper swift	P
In short he seem'd a dog adrift	P
His very tail a listless thing	I
With just an accidental swing	I
Like rudder to the ripple veering	I
When nobody on board is steering	I
	-
So dull and moody canter'd on	Q
Our vagrant pointer christen'd Don	Q
When rising o'er a gentle slope	R
That gave his view a better scope	R
He spied some dozen furrows distant	S
But in a spot as inconsistent	S
A second dog across his track	T
Without a master to his back	T
As if for wages workman like	U
The sporting breed had made a strike	U
Resolv'd nor birds nor puss to seek	V
Without another paunch a week	V
	-
This other was a truant curly	D
But for a spaniel wondrous surely	D
Instead of curvets gay and brisk	W
He slouch'd along without a frisk	W
With dogged air as if he had	X
A good half mind to running mad	X
Mayhap the shaking at his ear	Y
Had been a quaver too severe	Z
Mayhap the whip's exclusive dealing	I
Had too much hurt e'en spaniel feeling	I
Nor if he had been cut 'twas plain	A2
He did not mean to come again	B2
	-
Of course the pair soon spied each other	H
But neither seem'd to own a brother	H
The course on both sides took a curve	C2
As dogs when shy are apt to swerve	C2
But each o'er back and shoulder throwing	I
A look to watch the other's going	I
Till having clear'd sufficient ground	D2
With one accord they turn'd them round	D2
And squatting down for forms not caring	I
At one another fell to staring	I
As if not proof against a touch	E2
Of what plagues humankind so much	E2
A prying itch to get at notions	B
Of all their neighbor's looks and motions	B
Sir Don at length was first to rise	B
The better dog in point of size	B
And snuffing all the ground between	F2
Set off with easy jaunty mien	F2
While Dash the stranger rose to greet him	A
And made a dozen steps to meet him	A
Their noses touch'd and rubb'd awhile	G2
Some savage nations use the style	G2
And then their tails a wag began	H2
Though on a very cautious plan	H2
But in their signals quantum suff	C2
To say A civil dog enough	C2
	-
Thus having held out olive branches	B
They sank again though not on haunches	B
But couchant with their under jaws	B
Resting between the two forepaws	B
The prelude on a luckier day	I2
Or sequel to a game of play	I2
But now they were in dumps and thus	B
Began their worries to discuss	B
The Pointer coming to the point	J2
The first on times so out of joint	J2
	-
Well Friend so here's a new September	H
As fine a first as I remember	H
And thanks to such an early Spring	I
Plenty of birds and strong on wing	I
	-
Birds cried the little crusty chap	K2
As sharp and sudden as a snap	K2
A weasel suck them in the shell	L2
What matter birds or flying well	L2
Or fly at all or sporting weather	H
If fools with guns can't hit a feather	H
	-
Ay there's the rub indeed ' said Don	Q
Putting his gravest visage on	Q
In vain we beat our beaten way	I2
And bring our organs into play	I2
Unless the proper killing kind	M2
Of barrel tunes are play'd behind	M2
But when we shoot that's me and Squire	N2
We hit as often as we fire	H
	-
More luck for you cried little Woolly	D
Who felt the cruel contrast fully	D
More luck for you and Squire to boot	O2
We miss as often as we shoot	O2
	-
Indeed No wonder you're unhappy	D
I thought you looking rather snappy	D
But fancied when I saw you jogging	I
You'd had an overdose of flogging	I
Or p'rhaps the gun its range had tried	P2
While you were ranging rather wide	P2
	-
Me running running wide and hit	Q2
Me shot what pepper'd Deuce a bit	Q2
I almost wish I had That Dunce	B
My master then would hit for once	B
Hit me Lord how you talk why zounds	B
He couldn't hit a pack of hounds	B
	-
Well that must be a case provoking	I
What never but you dog you're joking	I
I see a sort of wicked grin	R2
About your jaw you're keeping in	R2
	-
A joke an old tin kettle's clatter	H
Would be as much a joking matter	H
To tell the truth that dog disaster	H
Is just the type of me and master	H
When fagging over hill and dale	S2
With his vain rattle at my tail	S2
Bang bang and bang the whole day's run	F
But leading nothing but his gun	F
The very shot I fancy hisses	B
It's sent upon such awful misses	B
	-
Of course it does But p'rhaps the fact is	B
Your master's hand is out of practice	B
	-
Practice No doctor where you will	T2
Has finer but he cannot kill	T2
These three years past thro' furze and furrow	O
All covers I have hunted thorough	O
Flush'd cocks and snipes about the moors	B
And put up hares by scores and scores	B
Coveys of birds and lots of pheasants	B
Yes game enough to send in presents	B
To ev'ry friend he has in town	U2
Provided he had knock'd it down	U2
But no the whole three years together	H
He has not giv'n me flick or feather	H
For all that I have had to do	V2
I wish I had been missing too	V2
	-
Well such a hand would drive me mad	X
But is he truly quite so bad	X
	-
Bad worse you cannot underssore him	A
If I could put up just before him	A
The great Balloon that paid the visit	W2
Across the water he would miss it	Q2
Bite him I do believe indeed	X2
It's in his very blood and breed	X2
It marks his life and run all through it	Q2
What can be miss'd he's sure to do it	Q2
Last Monday he came home to Tooting	I
Dog tir'd as if he'd been a shooting	I
And kicks at me to vent his rage	Y2
'Get out ' says he 'I've miss'd the stage '	-
Of course thought I what chance of hitting	I
You'd miss the Norwich wagon sitting	I
	-
Why he must be the country's scoff	C2
He ought to leave and not let off	C2
As fate denies his shooting wishes	B
Why don't he take to catching fishes	B
Or any other sporting game	A
That don't require a bit of aim	A
	-
Not he Some dogs of human kind	M2
Will hunt by sight because they're blind	M2
My master angle no such luck	I
There he might strike who never struck	I
My master shoots because he can't	Z2
And has an eye that aims aslant	Z2
Nay just by way of making trouble	L
He's changed his single gun for double	L
And now as girls a walking do	Z2
His misses go by two and two	Z2
I wish he had the mange or reason	F
As good to miss the shooting season	F
	-
Why yes it must be main upleasant	Z2
To point to covey or to pheasant	Z2
For snobs who when the point is mooting	I
Think letting fly as good as shooting	I
	-
Snobs if he'd wear his ruffled shirts	B
Or coats with water wagtail skirts	B
Or trowsers in the place of smalls	B
Or those tight fits he wears at balls	B
Or pumps and boots with tops mayhap	D
Why we might pass for Snip and Snap	D
And shoot like blazes fly or sit	Z2
And none would stare unless we hit	Z2
But no to make the more combustion	F
He goes in gaiters and in fustian	F
Like Captain Ross or Topping Sparks	B
And deuce a miss but some one marks	B
For Keepers shy of such encroachers	B
Dog us about like common poachers	B
Many's the covey I've gone by	A3
When underneath a sporting eye	A3
Many a puss I've twigg'd and pass'd her	H
I miss 'em to prevent my master	H
	-
And so should I in such a case	B
There's nothing feels so like disgrace	B
Or gives you such a scurvy look	I
A kick and pail of slush from Cook	I
Clefsticks or Kettle all in one	F
As standing to a missing gun	F
It's whirr and bang and off you bound	Z2
To catch your bird before the ground	Z2
But no a pump and ginger pop	D
As soon would get a bird to drop	D
So there you stand quite struck a heap	D
Till all your tail is gone to sleep	D
A sort of stiffness in your nape	D
Holding your head well up to gape	D
While off go birds across the ridges	B
First small as flies and then as midges	B
Cocksure as they are living chicks	B
Death's Door is not at Number Six	B
	-
Yes yes and then you look at master	H
The cause of all the late disaster	H
Who gives a stamp and raps on oath	B3
At gun or birds or maybe both	B3
P'rhaps curses you and all your kin	F
To raise the hair upon your skin	F
Then loads rams down and fits new caps	B
To go and hunt for more miss haps	B
	-
Yes yes but sick and sad you feel	C3
But one long wish to go to heel	C3
You cannot scent for cutting mugs	B
Your nose is turning up like Pug's	B
You can't hold up but plod and mope	D
Your tail like sodden end of rope	D
That o'er a wind bound vessel's side	Z2
Has soak'd in harbor tide and tide	Z2
On thorns and scratches till that moment	Z2
Unnoticed you begin to comment	Z2
You never felt such bitter brambles	B
Such heavy soil in all your rambles	B
You never felt your fleas so vicious	B
Till sick of life so unpropitious	B
You wish at last to end the passage	D3
That you were dead and in your sassage	D3
	-
Yes that's a miss from end to end	Z2
But zounds you draw so well my friend	Z2
You've made me shiver skin and gristle	L
As if I heard my master's whistle	L
Though how you came to learn the knack	I
I thought your Squire was quite a crack	I
	-
And so he is He always hits	B
And sometimes hard and all to bits	B
But ere with him our tongues we task	I
I've still one little thing to ask	I
Namely with such a random master	H
Of course you sometimes want a plaster	H
Such missing hands make game of more	E3
Than ever pass'd for game before	E3
A pounded pig a widow's cat	Z2
A patent ventilating hat	Z2
For shot like mud when thrown so thick	I
Will find a coat whereon to stick	I
	-
What accidentals as they're term'd	Z2
No never none since I was worm'd	Z2
Not e'en the Keeper's fatted calves	B
My master does not miss by halves	B
His shot are like poor orphans hurl'd	Z2
Abroad upon the whole wide world	Z2
But whether they be blown to dust	Z2
As often times I think they must	Z2
Or melted down too near the sun	F
What comes of them is known to none	F
I never found since I could bark	I
A Barn that bore my master's mark	I
	-
Is that the case Why then my brother	H
Would we could swap with one another	H
Or take the Squire with all my heart	Z2
Nay all my liver so we part	Z2
He'll hit you hares he uses cartridge	D3
He'll hit you cocks he'll hit a partridge	D3
He'll hit a snipe he'll hit a pheasant	Z2
He'll hit he'll hit whatever's present	Z2
He'll always hit as that's your wish	F3
His pepper never lacks a dish	F3
	-
Come come you banter let's be serious	B
I'm sure that I am half delirious	B
Your picture set me so a sighing	I
But does he shot so well shoot flying	I
	-
Shoot flying Yes and running walking	I
I've seen him shoot two farmers talking	I
He'll hit the game whene'er he can	F
But failing that he'll hit a man	F
A boy a horse's tail or head	Z2
Or make a pig a pig of lead	Z2
Oh friend they say no dog as yet	Z2
However hot was known to sweat	Z2
But sure I am that I perspire	N2
Sometimes before my master's fire	H
Misses no no he always hits	B
But so as puts me into fits	B
He shot my fellow dog this morning	I
Which seemed to me sufficient warning	I
	-
Quite quite enough So that's a hitter	H
Why my own fate I thought was bitter	H
And full excuse for cut and run	F
But give me still the missing gun	F
Or rather Sirius send me this	B
No gun at all to hit or miss	B
Since sporting seems to shoot thus double	L
That right or left it brings us trouble	L
	-
So ended Dash and Pointer Don	F
Prepared to urge the moral on	F
But here a whistle long and shrill	T2
Came sounding o'er the council hill	T2
And starting up as if their tails	B
Had felt the touch of shoes and nails	B
Away they scamper'd down the slope	D
As fast as other pairs elope	D
Resolv'd instead of sporting rackets	B
To beg or dance in fancy jackets	B
At butchers' shops to try their luck	I
To help to draw a cart or truck	I
Or lead Stone Blind poor men at most	Z2
Who would but hit or miss a post	Z2